


Devil's Due

by Yolashillinia



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Depression, Drama, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Possession, Romance, Sith Ideology & Philosophy (Star Wars), Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 230,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yolashillinia/pseuds/Yolashillinia
Summary: The story of a slightly-unhinged teenage ex-slave boy with an unusual set of gifts, and his struggle to survive and maybe, maybe find a better life. SWTOR Sith Inquisitor, rewritten for greater protagonist agency and deviousness and suspension of disbelief. Interwoven with an original Sith Warrior story. Begun 2017.
Relationships: Male Sith Inquisitor/Ashara Zavros, Male Sith Warrior/Original Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 11





	1. Part 1: The Old Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the beginning of my attempt to think like a super-villain! The story of a complicated, talented, slightly-unhinged teenage boy and his struggle to survive and maybe, maybe find a better life. A story born of a writer frustrated with the lack of agency and deviousness in BioWare’s SWTOR Inquisitor storyline, which could have been a really cool story if they didn’t make the main character wander blindly in the direction the last person told them to, falling in all the traps, and being saved not by their intellect and skill but by random people who don’t really have a reason to. Not to mention the ghost-eating and the DNA rebuilding and the magic rocks. >.>
> 
> Chapter boss battle theme is [I'm My Own Master Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RlSgnpLbro) from MGR:R. The backing soundtrack for the story in general is the Corpse Party OST.
> 
> Technically takes place in the same universe as [My Cruel Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693023/chapters/65110093), but is much more in-depth and subtle.

Part 1: The Old Machinations

A tall, lanky figure shuffled down the steel-grey corridor, head down, silver shock collar gleaming on the back of its neck, heavily laden with scrubbers and cleaning solution. Perfect posture, neatly dressed in pale grey, because even a slave had to be presentable if they worked in the house, didn’t they? Guards marched past the figure, not giving it even a second glance; it kept its shaved red-haired head down and shuffled on.

A door was open on the left, and the slave paused in the doorway. Only one guard was within, Ridderick, usually working security. His keycards were on the table, and he was turned away, just for an instant, pulling his underarmour over his head – he was coming off duty.

An awkwardly long-fingered red hand turned towards the table, and one of the keycards shivered and flew into it. The slave shuffled on.

When Ridderick was fired the next day for missing the keycard to the main security office, he couldn’t explain himself. He’d never misplaced any of his cards before, and he swore he’d had it when he entered the guard ready room. Even the camera footage of the room was no use – no one was to be seen between his entering and leaving it.

Lord Phurrl Netokos was the richest man on Commenor, if you believed everything he had to say about himself. He was Sith by title, but a merchant in deed – not that there was anything wrong with that, if you didn’t want bounty hunters to show up on your doorstep for slandering him. But his Sith nature did grant him a measure of ruthlessness in both trade and politics that made him one of the most powerful men on Commenor, almost its de facto ruler. Almost, because he still answered to the Council of the Hundred, as did all his rivals.

But he had the best guards – the unfortunate Ridderick no longer among their number – the largest estate, the largest mansion, the fastest yacht, and the most slaves. The younger, prettier ones were assigned to the mansion itself, segregated by gender of course, while the rest worked the factories and mines and fields until they dropped. What else were they good for? They were all the same. There was nothing outstanding about any sentient being unfortunate enough to be a slave. If there was, they wouldn’t have been a slave in the first place. Right?

“Who’s been stealing food?” thundered the guard – Krznaf, this one, a big brute who hated slaves almost as much as they hated him. He stomped further into the male slave quarters, tapping his truncheon on the floor, glaring around at them all even as they cowered. Two more guards followed, Wimgree and Brebuss, throwing blankets around, crushing pillows in search of contraband.

It wasn’t long before Wimgree gave a cry of triumph, holding up a package of crackers from a torn pillow like it was some magnificent prize. “Whose is this?”

A frozen moment of horror from all the slaves, then a shivering, blinking, small, slender Twi’lek boy, maybe eighteen years old, put up his hand. “I-I-I sleep there, s-sir, but those aren’t mine…”

Krznaf grabbed his arm and dragged him to the centre of the room. “You think I’d believe such nonsense?”

Tenkobu, a larger Twi’lek, took an involuntary step forward. “He couldn’t! I know Nelonk’ile. He couldn’t do such a thing.”

“Are you saying that you did it?” Krznaf demanded, squeezing Nelonk’ile’s arm harder.

Tenkobu’s expression didn’t flicker. “Maybe I did. Please let him go.”

Krznaf sneered. “I don’t believe you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if I’ve caught the right one. He’ll make as good an example as any other.” He threw Nelonkile to the floor and began to beat him with his truncheon. The boy’s despairing cries echoed around the room as the other slaves watched in silence.

Finally satisfied, Krznaf kicked Nelonk’ile towards Tenkobu and headed for the door. “You know what happens if you steal. Just try it again!”

Tenkobu knelt beside his barely-conscious boyfriend. “Shh, shh, Nel, he’s gone. I’ll take care of you.”

“I didn’t do it, Ten. I didn’t…”

“I know. I don’t know who framed you, but you heard him. It doesn’t matter. Shh, now. I’ll cover for you for a couple days.” But when he raised his head, his eyes were hard and angry.

The redhead near the doorway noted it, then rolled over to sleep. Wake-up call was in five hours. Tenkobu’s promise of assistance wouldn’t affect anything. Nelonk’ile would be forced to work anyway. Tenkobu would still be strong enough for his plan.

Cleaning the library was nearly a full-time job in itself; Lord Netokos hardly read any of his holocrons, but he had to have a big library, the biggest on Commenor if possible, and it had to be pristine if ever he deigned to visit, so there was always work to be done there. Which meant many opportunities for a certain redhead to read, and learn, and scheme.

Today he was after a certain prize – a holocron of the last battles of Naga Sadow, very rare, sure to be informative, certain to give him new insights into his plan. He’d thought he’d considered every angle, but one of the first things he’d learned from the holocrons was “no plan survives contact with the enemy”. So when he would inevitably have to adapt and modify the plan, the more precedents he had to draw on, the better.

His name was Murlesson, a red Zabrak, somewhere between fifteen and seventeen Commenor years old, and he was going to tear his freedom from Netokos’s cold dead hands very, very soon. Though he courted death with every illicit movement every day, that goal beat fiercely in his breast, ahead of even his indomitable will to survive.

He was tall, but hadn’t yet filled out into a true adult; his hair was red, though it was kept shaved close to his scalp, and his eyes were a flat, red-ringed yellow, and his nearly-settled voice was shockingly deep. But most important, and most precious and secret, was his gift. He had the strange ability to will things to happen, and to an extent, they would happen. Objects would move without touch. People, and even droids, would ignore him if he wanted to be ignored, or follow suggestions. He sensed presences and intentions, often before they even manifested. He didn’t know what it was. The few Sith he saw seemed to do similar things, and he stayed away from them in case they caught him. But no one else in his situation could have done the things he did.

He made his slow, dull way down the shelves, polishing ever closer to the holocron he was after. He reached it and moved past without changing his motions, and only someone watching very closely would have seen the slight flick of his fingers that impelled the cube to move without touch into his sleeve. Now he just had to get somewhere private enough to read some of it.

But before he could reach his hidey-hole, a cupboard under one of the shelves with a sliding door he could vanish into for at least twenty minutes, he passed one of his fellow slaves and got elbowed so hard he stumbled. “Where are you going?” Buhi hissed.

Murlesson shot him a venomous glance that didn’t seem to affect the Bith. Buhi had always seemed more resistant to his gift than others, and to make matters worse, was a complete dick, even to his fellow slaves. Especially to his fellow slaves. “Away from you. I got tired of your stench.”

Buhi put down his cleaners and turned to face him threateningly. “Say that again, scum.”

 _If I pacify him, he’ll know something’s up, and if I escalate, they might catch me_. “The only scum I see here is you.”

Buhi swung; Murlesson ducked, smooth as water, sliding back. Buhi punched again, and he stepped back again. There was something wrong with Buhi’s attacks, though, he wasn’t necessarily trying to hit…

He sensed people behind him and whirled – too fast. He almost stumbled into two guards, checked himself at the last second, and the holocron tumbled from his sleeve and across the floor with a sharp metallic sound.

Yellow eyes went wide. His gift couldn’t save him now. “You saw nothing.” They couldn’t kill him _more_ if he tried and failed.

Melcran snorted. “Ha, ha. Jokes won’t get you out of this.” Buhi was grinning maliciously, gleefully. An inexorable grip clamped around Murlesson’s arm and dragged him away. “Tobrat, cover for me while I take this filth down to get his desserts.”

The guard led him through halls to a place he was called in to clean far too often, and to a room where there were the two things he hoped to see least – a torture rack, and Lord Netokos. He almost bolted, terror choking him. All his plans, he’d tried so hard not to get caught, to never be strapped into that thing again…

Netokos smiled and spread his hands wide. “So you’re the one who just couldn’t resist a peek at my collection. I didn’t even know you could read. Such a smart boy.” The sarcasm was as thick as Netokos’s spittle, and if Murlesson had been as powerful as Netokos, he could have offered a few barbs in return, but words failed him now.

Shaking, he held back, and Melcran gave him a yank. “The longer you resist, the longer you stay in the bed. Move.” He went limp and let them pull him forward. He had no clever plan for this.

He couldn’t tell if he was dead or not. Everything was dark, and his entire body was aching. Someone was… dragging him by the wrists?

Logic began to filter back, to tell him that it was dark because his eyes were closed, that if he were dead it would hurt a lot less. Past that, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what was going on, and began to panic. No, no, his name was Murlesson, and he was a slave to – and a black wave of hatred broke over him, almost numbing the pain. He tensed once, the emotion almost breaking free, then had to let it go from his body, even while it rolled around his head and chest unchecked. He couldn’t even fight the guard dragging him, let alone a mansion full of more guards and Sith. _No. Stick to the plan_.

He heard a door open, felt himself flying, heard himself whimper as he struck the floor and rolled.

“Next time you get dragged before Lord Netokos, he’ll break literally every bone in your body,” growled the guard, and Murlesson heard him slam the door. He must be back in the slave quarters.

He felt hands on him and suddenly fought, throwing himself back and away, scratching at his assailant, then faltered when he heard Tenkobu yelp. “Mur, hey, Mur, I’m trying to help, calm down!”

“Don’t waste your time on that asshole,” he heard Buhi call from across the room, and felt his teeth bare in an involuntary snarl. “He got his own stupid self caught with a holocron, remember? He knew what would happen.”

Murlesson cracked his eyes open, pushed himself to something resembling standing, and lunged for Buhi, but Ten caught him, restraining him easily, even though everything in Murlesson was telling him to tear Buhi’s arms off and choke the life out of him. “Whoa, wait, Mur. Rest. Tell me what happened. You’ve been gone for three days, I’ve been so worried. A holocron?” Ten’s brow was furrowed. He, too, must be wondering how Murlesson had been so stupid.

“Kn-knowledge,” Murlesson stammered out, forcing his sluggish mouth to move. His voice cracked in the middle of it. He slumped back against the wall and slid down to the floor again, gasping in pain, limbs shaking. Three days was more than he’d ever been taken before; true, the crime he’d been caught for had been worse than any he’d been caught for before.

“Knowledge? What kind? What for?”

Knowledge was power, didn’t Ten know that? And Naga Sadow offered plenty of the kind he wanted. But he could hardly look at Ten, guilt suddenly wringing him as much as the torture. “I’m s-sorry about Nel.”

“It’s all right. It wasn’t his fault, but you got much worse than him.”

Karma, Balea of the female slaves called it. Maybe it was. But karma wouldn’t stop him. No matter how he felt, no matter what happened to the others, it was worth it in the end. Was it time to set things in motion? “What if I told you,” he said to Ten in a whisper that wouldn’t reach Buhi, “that I have a plan?”

Ten’s eyes widened, and he shrank back. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Suddenly his gaze focused on Ten, boring into him slightly lopsidedly. “You want revenge, don’t you? For Nel. And I want revenge. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I think it can work.” Murlesson knew he wasn’t quite in control, his eye twitching, his limbs trembling, breathing erratic. But he’d never been more earnest about anything in his whole life. His efforts _had_ to pay off.

The Twi’lek stared at him with fear and concern mingled in his blue eyes. “I think you should rest.”

“I will. But tell me if you’re in.”

“I-I have to think about it, all right, Mur?”

That meant Ten didn’t want to. Without him, it would fail! He’d thought Ten had been primed for this moment! His fingers curled, longing to seize Ten’s tunic and drag him closer, hiss in his face. He didn’t. “It will work. It has to. I’m going to pay back Netokos for every single thing that’s happened to any of us. Or at least make him stop. I wouldn’t risk us all if I didn’t think we had a good chance.”

“Is that what the holocron was for?”

“Yes, to help me with my plans. I wanted to see if there were any more options I should know about. But it will work. I promise.” He tried to restrain the eye twitching, the sick crawl of hatred in his belly, tried to look trustworthy.

“Well…” Ten’s eyes grew hard and determined. “If you’re so sure. What do you need me to do?”

Murlesson relaxed in relief, then gasped again as that sent spasms up his back. “We all look to you, for good reason. When the time comes, lead the others in an uprising. I can’t get you weapons… but I can get security down. I can block the signal from the shock collar remotes.” Plans. Plans were good. He could talk about those and not lose control. “I have the password to the central computer.”

“How do you know that?”

Murlesson flicked his gaze towards Ylon, a human boy not more than eleven. He wouldn’t be around much longer, either, if this revolt didn’t happen soon. The youngest ones wore out the most quickly. Murlesson had let himself get attached exactly once. “Netokos likes to brag in bed.”

Ten barely restrained a shiver. “I think… I don’t know… I think Buhi has a vibroknife.”

“I know. He doesn’t know I know. Keep it that way. I need it to get into security.”

“You’re doing the most dangerous part, you can have it. But we can overpower a few guards to begin with, take their weapons. We’ll have to break the women out, too, they can help.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Then head for the hangar. Steal a ship. I’ve learned what I can about how they work, and I hope it’ll be enough. But the estate should be in enough uproar for us to figure it out before we get shot.”

“And then… we’ll figure things out from there, I take it.”

Murlesson felt his eye twitching again. “Not a word to anyone until I say, right?”

“Not a word. Not even to Nel. Promise. Poor fellow wouldn’t want to know anyway. I’ll have to keep him back from the fighting, he can’t fight.”

“You might be surprised,” Murlesson said drily. “Now, pretend you were scolding me this whole time for being stupid.”

Ten nodded and stood, raising his voice a bit. “You’re not going to do that again, right? Don’t throw your life away for a box of words. It’s not worth it.”

“You tell that-” Buhi began.

“You can shut up, too,” Ten said, rounding on him. “If you hadn’t picked a fight, he might not have gotten tortured.”

Buhi stood, advancing on Ten. “You can drop the mamma manka routine any time, asshole. You’re just as much a gutter stain as any of us.”

Ten held Buhi’s eyes until the other was forced to drop them, slinking away back to his blanket, and Ten returned to the blanket he shared with Nel, curling around the boy protectively. Murlesson watched them for a moment, their entwined limbs and lekku. They couldn’t exactly claim happiness, not here, not now, but at least they had each other.

Guilt bit him again in the gut and he rolled over so he didn’t have to see them anymore.

His dreams were full of pain and leering faces. Morning was almost a relief.

The only thing standing in the way of his plan was the most opportune time. Sometime before the end of the week and the passwords would change, but not while he was still under censure for his crime. And preferably not while he was still weak from being electrocuted for three days. He was clumsier than usual because of it, and got smacked more than once for dropping cleaner bottles.

He was cleaning the slave toilets, scrubbing dully at old mold in the corners, and the door opened. Immediately his gift pricked him like a needle, and he looked up to see Buhi entering, a dark look on his face. “What do _you_ want, you snitch?”

“You’re up to something, scum, and I know it,” Buhi snapped. “You think I haven’t noticed all the time you’re spending with mamma?”

It was true; Murlesson had spent more time with Ten over the last two days, trying to impart his various contingencies to his ersatz commander. Ten was no Marka Ragnos, but he would have to do. He’d tried to be subtle enough that Buhi wouldn’t notice something was up, but there wasn’t really time to do it properly. “He’s trying to get me to not come after you for what you did.” He rose to his feet, but not to the proper, upright stance of a good slave, settling into a tense, combat-ready crouch. “But here you’ve come to me, and he’s not here now, is he?” If he beat up Buhi enough, he would get in trouble, but Buhi wouldn’t interfere until it was time to strike. At which point Murlesson could kill him and dispose of him quietly.

Buhi’s tiny mouth opened in a snarl, and he lunged forward, fist cocked to punch. Murlesson slid sideways and punched back. He didn’t get his guard up in time to prevent an elbow from striking his cheekbone and staggered backwards.

Buhi’s hands wrapped around his neck, and Murlesson struggled with them for a brief second before he whipped his head forward and butted him in the face. Bith skulls might be hard, but Zabrak horns were harder, and Buhi reeled back, feeling the lump in the centre of his forehead. “You bitch!” He jumped away, scrabbling for something behind one of the mirrors. Murlesson sprang after him, he was going for…

…the vibroknife, which stabbed towards him viciously. Murlesson ducked, catching Buhi’s wrist, and they reeled for a moment, balanced against each other’s strength. Then Murlesson kicked out, catching Buhi in the knee, but the older, heavier slave toppled over onto him. The knife buzzed angrily against the tile by Murlesson’s ear, then raised to stab him in the face. Murlesson grabbed the wrist with both hands, and Buhi got his forearm over the Zabrak’s throat, pressing down. Murlesson hissed in fury, and thrashed, forcing the full power of his gift against Buhi. The pressure lifted, and as Buhi flinched in surprise and disbelief, Murlesson got control of the knife and slammed it into Buhi’s ribcage.

The Bith collapsed instantly, and Murlesson wriggled out from underneath the heavy body, breathing hard. Fascinating, how quickly living things lost control when they received their deathblow. He reached up to touch his throat, and stopped when he saw how covered in blood his hands were. His hands, the knife, his sleeves, and a large patch on his chest, sticky with greenish Bith blood.

There was no going back now. There wasn’t anywhere nearby he could hide the body, and no way he could hide that it was him who had killed him. He washed his hands and the vibroblade, put it into the bucket of cleaning supplies and picked it up again, holding it to hide the bloodstain. First, to the place he’d hidden the keycard, out in the halls. He shuffled as fast as he dared, his hearts racing, clenching his gift with his mind. _There’s no one here. No one to see. Nothing important_.

The door to the security office was a long way away, but either he was lucky, his gift was working, or everyone had forgotten that he’d committed a crime already. Probably all three. The door was watched by two guards. They looked bored. _Nothing happened around here. There’s nothing important going on_. Softly, he put the bucket down near them and took the vibroblade in hand. His hand was trembling.

Swift as an adder, the knife stabbed both guards in the back of the neck. Murlesson swept the keycard through the lock and crouched. As the door hissed open, he lunged through, staying low, taking the three officers inside by surprise. He tackled the first one around the knees, snatching his blaster, and shot the other two before they could draw their own weapons.

The officer below him struck him with a closed fist, slamming him into a console and making him drop the blaster, and reached for the alarm. The thrown vibroblade caught him in the throat and he slumped backwards.

Murlesson glanced frantically at the door, but there were no reinforcements. A least one of his hearts threatening to jump out of his throat, he dashed to what he believed was the main console. He was closer to more technology than he’d ever been before in his life, and holocrons could only teach so much. He had some luck with him; the officers were still logged in. With fingers violently trembling from fear and adrenaline, he searched for and found the signal frequency of the shock collar remotes, then entered the command that would initiate a jamming signal, setting it to loop automatically from all transmitters within the entire estate. Even when he shut down the computer, the jamming should remain. With priority one taken care of, he entered the commands that locked the doors to the guard quarters and everything related to guards that he could see. It wouldn’t stop reinforcements, but it would slow them down. Then he activated mansion-wide comm. “It’s time!” His voice cracked again, but it didn’t matter. Ten would understand. Ten would handle it.

The last thing he had to do in here was a general shut-down. He couldn’t find it from the menu, but he knew how to do a basic search function, thank goodness, and there it was, asking for the security password for confirmation. Ylon’s intel hadn’t been wasted. He poked it in quickly and heard a mechanical _dwoo_ sound that seem to signal success. The bank of security camera screens before him went blank. Another panel, the one for the automated turrets, went dark.

Job done, he grabbed one of the blasters and shot everything that still had lights on it, then grabbed the other blasters and ran. There was something he needed in the library.

He ran into Nelonk’ile at the entrance. “Mur! What’s going on? Why did someone say ‘it’s time’? Why are you run- are those guns!?”

Murlesson shoved one at him. “We’re getting out. Take these to Ten. If you see a guard, shoot him. Shoot him several times. Make sure he’s not getting back up. Or he’ll kill you.”

“I-I d-don’t know- I c-can’t…”

“Yes, you can!” Murlesson yelled at him. “You have to! Remember what they did to you! To me! To all of us!”

Nelonk’ile looked like he was on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Suddenly three slaves came running around the corner – Murlesson almost shot them. Two women and a man, one woman with a guard’s helmet in her hands, the other two with guns and stripped armour. “Nel! Mur! You guys all right?”

Murlesson shoved his extra guns at them. “Take care of Nel. I’m going ahead.”

Lasha grinned at him. “Ten says it’s thanks to you this is all happening. We’ve got guns, we’ve got a link into the guards’ comm system, and we outnumber them three to one. We’ll regroup and follow you.”

Murlesson nodded and ran. Tried to keep his soul from opening to them. For all he knew, she’d die around the next corner. All he cared for was getting himself out. Everything else could burn. He didn’t care. He hoped it did.

Right?

Lord Netokos had caught wind of the trouble, naturally, and Murlesson, moving more cautiously the closer he got to the hangar, caught sight of his personal bodyguard in the hangar’s antechamber. He was running until his guards had subdued the riot. Murlesson would have condemned him for his cowardice, if it didn’t play right into his plan. If he hadn’t counted on it in the first place.

Gift. He had to use his gift. _There’s no one here. Everything is fine. There’s no one here, no one at all_. He had to cross their field of vision to reach the service corridor, and he did the slave shuffle until he was halfway down, long out of their sight. Then he relaxed his posture into something more lightfooted, and slunk into the hangar.

Netokos was before him, standing at the foot of his private yacht; he looked like he was arguing with someone already on board. Probably the pilot. His lord of the last three years was an overweight human with red blotches on his face – not a proper red like Murlesson’s own scarlet skin, but the sort of purple-pink that humans thought was red when applied to a light brown-pink skin-tone. His clothes were brightly coloured and impractical for movement, though he had his lightsaber at his side.

Murlesson hit the door controls and then blasted them, locking the bodyguards outside for the mob to deal with when they got there, then lit the lightsaber he’d stolen from the library and charged.

Netokos turned, eyes bulging in surprise, but his own lightsaber was in his hand quick as thought. Murlesson felt his hands begin to tremble again, but not with fear – hatred flooded him now, black and venomous and bringing power to his limbs, blurring his vision, rising in his throat with a howl.

Netokos bared his own teeth. “What, _slave?_ I keep you alive, fed, clothed, sheltered, busy, and you think you can challenge me?” He blocked Murlesson’s strike, and the next. “You don’t even know how to use that weapon.”

Murlesson didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t know how to use it _properly_ , maybe… but Buhi hadn’t been the first person he’d shanked. And his gift was useful for more than just turning minds and eyes away from him. Although if he could cause confusion to Netokos as well, even in the heat of the moment… Cat-like, he hopped backwards from Netokos’s counterattack, catching the blows on his orange blade, sensing where they’d fall. He could have shot at him with the blaster, he had decent hand-eye coordination, but he knew the Sith could deflect bolts. One holocron had said lightsaber-users were useless against blasters when using Makashi form, but he had no idea what that was. So headlong suicidal hand-to-hand combat it was.

Netokos paused in his onslaught. “You’re a Force-sensitive, aren’t you? Incredible. You’ve survived in secret for so long, I almost admire you. But now I’ll take great pleasure in ending you!”

 _Slow. He shouldn’t have stopped_. Murlesson attacked again, viciously pressing his brief advantage, battering his opponent’s guard, every strike angling for the kill.

But Netokos blocked and swiped his lightsaber in a motion Murlesson couldn’t follow, and suddenly his lightsaber was torn from his grasp and searing pain burned along his ribcage. The Sith laughed as Murlesson staggered, clutching his side. “You weren’t even close. Now you’ll die in great pain-”

Pain was no stranger to him, and he exploded forwards with a roar, skidding under the blast of lightning that shot from Netokos’s fingertips and struck the floor behind him. He snatched the vibroknife from his belt and hurled himself at his enemy, up between his arms. Netokos fell backwards, Murlesson on him. He was stabbing, over and over and over, his clothes becoming wet with crimson-black patches. Netokos was still, his breath and pulse gone, and yet he continued, mindless with hate.

A slow clap to his left brought him to his senses with a jolt. Someone was descending the ramp of the yacht slowly.

Murlesson bolted. He only made it a single step before something invisible gripped him, lifting him into the air and turning him to face… her. A regal lady, face white as paper with makeup, and orange eyes in pools of black eyeshadow. Her black hair was elaborately done on the top of her head, and her red robes swished around her legs as she strode slowly forwards. “Well done, child. The Empire is well rid of that waste, and it seems my visit was not completely in vain.”

Murlesson struggled silently. Any questions he had were not worth asking. He just had to _get away_ , to get away from the greater, colder evil before him.

She stopped before him and reached out to stroke his face. He winced at her touch, then even more as she smiled. “Yes, you are very strong, aren’t you? You’ll do very well.” She let him down, though the invisible force did not let him go. “I am Darth Lachris. You are going to come with me, and I will take you to a new life. As here, you will either thrive, or die… but your destiny will at last be your own.” She tilted her head. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

What could he do? What could he say? He’d fought for his freedom so hard, and now it was gone from him yet again. He swallowed. He would submit… for now. A chance would come. He could scheme against this woman too.

He nodded. She smiled and clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Now, follow me.” She released him entirely and turned to head back into the yacht. Meekly, he followed, clamping down on the resentment and hate in his belly.

He’d never been on a ship before, that he could remember, and stared at everything curiously. Some of it he recognized from holocrons, but most of it was completely foreign to him. He followed her to the… cockpit? and watched her hit buttons and move levers until the ship rose in the air, shifting slightly under his feet. His wound pained him, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding much. She didn’t go far, waiting for something, a mysterous smile on her face still. He could see the mansion. It looked relatively intact, though some windows were now shedding faint smoke.

A few minutes later, another shuttle rose from the mansion’s hangar, much more unsteadily. So at least some of the other slaves made it out. He tried not to feel too much, not with the Sith sitting right there, but he was relieved all the same.

That relief turned to horror as the Sith gently turned the ship in the direction of the shuttle, touching a button that announced “weapons systems powering up” as she did so. “It wouldn’t do to have baggage from your past knocking about, would it?” Her fingers found the trigger.

He stepped forward, raised his hand – and was slammed back into a seat and held there. “Please,” he blurted out, helpless as he was, and his voice cracked. He didn’t really care about them… did he?

But they’d fought for their freedom, too, and they’d won it as truly as he had. It wasn’t fair if _no one_ got free.

She spared him a contemptuous look, and turned the approaching shuttle into a fireball.

The rising hate-filled snarl broke free of his teeth and he tore himself from the chair, his gift pushing back against the invisible force holding him. She rose, turning to face him, and stretched out her hand, and he choked.

“You hate me, don’t you?” she said, smirking. Oh, how he wanted to scratch that look off her face. “You hated Netokos, and you hate me. Good. With potential like yours, and that fuel to the fire, you’ll serve the Empire very well. But first, you need a lesson in power and who wields it here.”

His throat closed on itself, and he couldn’t breathe – he couldn’t-


	2. First Step

Part 2: First Step

He stood alone in the darkness, trembling, waiting for the nightmare to find him. It was out there, he knew, somehow he knew, looking for him. And it knew exactly where he was.

It shifted out of the darkness, an indistinct black shape. “Run,” the nightmare said, a voice felt rather than heard, and he did.

He did, blindly, and without thought, sprinting into the vague darkness, stumbling over rough ground he couldn’t see, gasping in terror, his side searing with pain, his neck aching. He didn’t even think of hiding. There was nowhere to hide, and it would find him. It could sense him as he sensed it.

Everything was becoming slow, his body sluggish. The nightmare was catching up to him, and he knew now what he would see if he turned around – his former master, blood-soaked and dead, but with an insane light in his eyes and his lightsaber raised to kill.

He tripped, falling on his back, and the apparition towered over him, leering without mirth, the lightsaber already swinging…

He screamed, and the sound resonated through his skull, waking him.

He woke to find himself in some tiny room on the ship, dimly lit, bare. He sucked air into his lungs desperately. He’d never had a dream like that before – bad dreams, but not like that. He was still shaking violently, hearts pounding as if he’d been running for real.

Whether the door was locked or not, he didn’t know, and it hardly mattered – _this_ Sith he could not fight, was in no state to fight. His blood-soaked robe was stuck to him in a most disgusting way, the wound in his side was burning in agony, and the shock collar was heavy failure on the back of his neck. No wonder he’d felt them in his nightmare.

His stomach was grumbling. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he ate, even the slop that his former masters had deemed sufficient for a day’s work. When he lifted his head, his vision swam. He crawled like a wounded animal into the darkest corner of the room and huddled there around his injured side.

It wasn’t long before the door slid open and his newest imprisoner, Darth Lachris, entered. He froze involuntarily the moment he sensed her approaching, but by the time she came in he’d recovered enough to glare weakly at her.

“Are you ready to discuss your future like a civilized creature?” she asked carelessly, hardly even glancing at him. “Or are you going to keep lashing out like the subhuman nothing you have been to this point?”

He wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted him to say in answer and stayed silent. But his stomach did not.

She sighed. “Come along, then. You need to be washed and fed and dressed appropriately. You really are an infant, aren’t you? And you’re sure to be _completely_ uneducated. I’ll have to at least _begin_ to remedy that before we arrive on Korriban.”

He lurched to his feet with a spinning head as she beckoned, though he didn’t leave his shadow quite yet. “Korriban. The ancient Sith homeworld, a barren wasteland of tombs, resting place of Ajunta Pall, Marka Ragnos, and even the disgraced Ludo Kressh. Its discovery by Republic explorers triggered the Great Hyperspace War. Lord Revan came there on her travels, though she did not claim it in her conquest against the Republic. It has been settled, fought over, abandoned, lost, and resettled time and again. That Korriban?”

She looked more directly at him now. “Well now, I suppose you’re not utterly hopeless. In fact, one might almost say you’re a huge nerd.”

“I _can_ read,” he shot back sarcastically. “Shocking, I know. What’s a nerd?”

“Honestly, it is,” she said. “Most sentients in your circumstance can’t even manage that. Come along. Do you know how to work a shower?”

“Yes.”

She also gave him a kolto patch to cover the shallow lightsaber slash across his side, and he used it before he tried the shower. The shower was like no shower he’d had before – the water was hot, the pressure was strong, and the tiles were smooth. He left the mysterious bottles around the refresher alone, left the cloths alone in case he tainted them by his touch, but dressed in the new robe the woman had given him, plain and black. It absorbed what water was left on his body fine. It had a hood. And to wear well-made boots instead of wrapped sandals… his feet felt funny, but safe and secure like they never had before.

“What do I do with the old clothes?” he asked.

“Dispose of them,” she answered impatiently, gesturing to the waste receptacle.

She’d prepared food, some sort of noodles in a sauce rich enough to have meat in it, or so he guessed, as he’d never had meat before. While she turned her nose up at it, he couldn’t get enough. He nigh inhaled the first bowl, and while he didn’t dare ask for more, she handed him the ladle telekinetically with a contemptuous look. “Take responsibility for yourself, fool.”

When he was feeling… sated, for the first time in his life, she produced a datapad and handed it to him. “Now, I really don’t have time to teach you how to interact with society, so I hope your interest in reading holds.”

He was certainly interested in learning that there was an entire Empire of the same brush as Netokos and Lachris. An entire Empire to hate. The poison curled up in his stomach and got comfortable.

The last thing Lord Lachris did before kicking him unceremoniously off the yacht was to remove the slave collar. “You’ll be an acolyte or dead soon enough.” _Neither needed a collar_. She gave him a Force-push towards the loading ramp and went back to the cockpit.

He stumbled out into a small, shady hangar bay, but when he turned to look back at the yacht as it took off and flew away, he had to squint and shade his eyes against the brilliant desert light outside. The air was hot and dry, so arid he almost choked. Nothing like Commenor. His neck felt light without the collar, and he reached up to touch where it had been. There were marks in his skin from its weight, scars from when it had been attached years ago.

He turned his attention the other way and saw a short human man with red markings on his face, glaring at him with an air of authority. He approached him warily.

“The last one to arrive is finally here,” the human said, his voice smooth and devoid of warmth. “I hope you don’t think you’re special. It would be a shame if freedom went to your head, or if you somehow got the idea you didn’t need to pass your trials in order to become Sith. I am Overseer Harkun. Lord Zash has tasked me with sorting through you refuse to find one worthy of being her apprentice, and I intend to do just that. Most of your ilk will die immediately and save the galaxy from your clutter.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” Murlesson muttered. “We’ve only just met.”

“I won’t,” the human hissed. Apparently he had even less sense of humour than Krznaf. “Your first trial, _slave_ , begins immediately. Take this training weapon and go to the tomb of Ajunta Pall. A hermit named Spindral lives there. He will test you. Spindrall’s a lunatic, but Lord Zash sees him as some kind of prophet. You will do as she wishes.”

“Fine. I will seek the insane hermit in the incredibly dangerous tomb and take his little test,” Murlesson said, taking the training sword. There was nothing to gain by refusing.

“Don’t appear in my office until you’ve completed this task, slave, or you’ll find yourself wishing you were back wherever you came from.”

Gods, Murlesson hated him already.

Being an acolyte on Korriban was, surprising to him, not terribly different from being a slave. At least at first. As a newcomer, he didn’t know who to watch, didn’t know who might be manipulated. And for trusting… he trusted no one. Under Netokos, the slaves had a loose understanding that they had to stick together against their masters, for there was no hope for change. Here, the acolytes were firmly at the whim of just about everyone, but they all had the hope of upward mobility; everyone was for themselves. He had more autonomy, was less watched, but the crimes were the same, the punishments just as harsh. He didn’t dare steal here. Though he was pleased to find that he could sneak almost as well as before, though he didn’t use it to pry. Not yet. Not until he had a purpose to.

However, while being an acolyte was not surprisingly different from his former life, he found it hard to adjust to the small changes. For three years his life had not changed at all, and his life before that had been equally monotonous. Now, sleeping in a dorm in a bunk bed was difficult. Not just because of the strangeness of it, but the nightmares came frequently, and in full force: horrible, grasping, black, cloying things that conquered his unconscious mind and made it their plaything. More than once, he woke up shrieking, imagining he was back in that torture bed, that Netokos had somehow multiplied and was rending his flesh from his limbs, that he was running, always running futilely. His only real comfort was that he wasn’t always the only one to wake up screaming in that dorm room. Other acolytes had their own demons to wrestle with, so he didn’t stand out. When it happened, one of the senior acolytes would come and slap him, which was new, and didn’t much help his state of mind, even if it did shut him up.

Worse were the nights when he couldn’t sleep, lying motionless with all the dark emotions of the Force piercing him, eyes unable to close lest he see things he really didn’t want to see. Netokos, Lachris, Nelonk’ile, the faces that roused hatred and the faces that roused guilt, just waiting for him to fall prey to sleep so they could ravage his mind more.

In comparison to that, the way he reflexively froze when a powerful Sith came near was hardly worth mentioning.

So he lurked in the library or in the tombs or in the back halls of the Academy, and did his assigned tasks, and stayed away from Ffon. And most of all he watched. He needed a shield, someone to hide behind, as he and many of the others had hidden behind Tenkobu. Being unimportant-seeming would only help him for so long. He needed someone strong to always stand before him, just a little bit more important-seeming, so he could work unwatched, so no one would notice when he froze up.

He almost bumped into the perfect candidate the day after he arrived. Murlesson was curled up in the library, devouring yet another text that he’d only caught glimpses of in his past life, when he felt a presence approaching and looked up. A human stood at the end of the shelf, bearded, older than him, with a proud, self-confident bearing and dark, calm amber eyes. The human cleared his throat and flicked his gaze to a holocron on the shelf above Murlesson. Silently, the redhead scooted out of the way so the man could get his reading material. “Thank you,” the man said quietly, and left. But Murlesson’s attention was only partly on the description of Ajunta’s Pall’s rise to power now. That man had a strength in him, a core of willpower and determination that would be hard to reckon with.

He saw the man again at the evening meal, and watched him surreptitiously. Murlesson wasn’t the only acolyte to hope for shadowy corners to lurk in, as much as could be found in the Sith cafeteria, but he’d been successful at claiming a favourable spot, and he intended to use it. The man’s name was Aristheron, Murlesson heard, a noble-born Sith from Talcene, only arrived as recently as Murlesson himself. He was surrounded by a bunch of other acolytes, and Murlesson gauged them in the Force and with his eyes: they feared him as much as they admired him. He only spoke to them if absolutely forced to, but not from any shyness; it looked more that he was here to succeed at the Academy, and anything else was a distraction. He was above their petty bickerings. Despite that, he seemed to follow a code of justice and honour that many of the others did not. It could make him readily manipulable, once his trust was won, and if done subtly enough. He was a perfect target to ally with.

But Aristheron holding himself aloof gave Murlesson a problem, as he discovered over the next few days. The human despised sycophants and sucking up, it was clear to see, and he was competent enough that arranging a situation to place him in Murlesson’s debt would be extremely difficult without arousing suspicion. Nor would he notice Murlesson if he arranged to put himself in Aristheron’s debt; he would only dismiss him as weak as the rest. Only a situation that was mutually beneficial to both of them would show Aristheron that Murlesson was a useful ally. For Murlesson was certainly not going to become a slave or a servant again. He might pretend to, but only if he had no choice about it.

No, his plan was coalescing, or at least his goal was. He would fall in line here, kill his rivals, survive however he had to, and then once he’d gained a master who would take him away from here, use them until he could kill them – and then their master, and their master, and spread his threads of instability through the entire Empire, until he could bring it crashing down on the head of the Emperor himself.

The irony was not lost on him. In order to destroy the thing he hated most, the Sith, he would have to become the best at what he hated most. He would have to lie and murder and steal and manipulate; he would use people without remorse, without honour, without any consideration beyond how they could serve his goal. He’d tried not to care about Netokos’s other slaves; if nothing else, Darth Lachris had shown him why that was a mistake. She’d manipulated him, but she’d known what she was doing. And now he would follow her example, even while he plotted her death with more vengefulness than the Dark Council. He was vaguely concerned that the power would seduce him until he only desired more power instead of destruction, but if that happened… His future self wouldn’t care, why should he?

And all this he would have to conceal with all of his strength, not just from patriotic Aristheron, but from every being around him, for the rest of his life. His life was not likely to be long, but he didn’t care. Just as long as he could hurt the Empire that had hurt him…

“Now, slave…” Harkun said, “you think yourself pretty clever getting that holocron, don’t you?”

“I don’t really think about it one way or the other,” Murlesson answered sarcastically. He’d always had a sharp tongue, but it had always been tempered before. Experience here had taught him that Harkun had no power to wound or kill him just for talking back, however, so he exploited it. An angry overseer was a clumsy overseer. And the additional duties weren’t that hard. “I did as I was told.”

And truth be told, he didn’t think this holocron had been particularly clever to obtain. It was impossible that others had not considered his solution, wasn’t it? Perhaps he was simply the right person; the texts were full of strange ‘chosen one’ examples like that. In which case, he had to wonder what was so special about him.

“You’re lucky Lord Zash finds you useful. But the final resting place of the dead lord is not easily trespassed. You will not be the first to die there.”

Murlesson shrugged carelessly. “Yes, yes, yes… you send me into a tomb to do the impossible, hoping I die, and I come back and prove you wrong.” It wasn’t the first time. He was almost enjoying it. He wondered if that was weird.

Harkun snarled audibly. “Shut up, slave. I’ve had about enough of your mockery. Do not come back here until you’ve gotten the text from Tulak Hord’s tomb. Out of my sight!”

That assignment took him some time. Tulak Hord’s tomb was wide and sprawling, elaborate beyond reasonableness, and the stone tablets with the text he sought were scattered. But there were other artifacts, too, other secrets. Occasionally other acolytes. When they saw him, they attacked him; he took to lurking in the shadows, moving as silently as he could, and slashing them first. All in all, it was a very educational experience.

He’d returned on the evening of the fourth day, dirty, hungry, exhausted. Which slightly concerned him, but as long as he kept to the main halls, no one could sneak up on him.

He was nearing Harkun’s office, datapad in hand, when a blonde woman in red robes walked up to him, stopping him with a gesture. He’d never seen her before, and was immediately wary as she walked around him, inspecting him from head to foot. It would have been slightly creepy, but he was used to people looking at him that way, when they looked at him at all. With a start, he realized that she was one of the powerful ones – but her power was hidden away, cloaked, like he kept his. He didn’t freeze, though his heart jumped nervously; the lack of overt power made him feel almost… normal to interact with her. Although that just sent his suspicions into overdrive.

“Yes… yes. Remarkable. Magnificent. You, slave.” She started and blinked, correcting herself. “Wait, no… _acolyte_. You’re the one who brought me this magnificent holocron from the tomb of Marka Ragnos, yes?” She smiled disarmingly, hefting that holocron in her left hand.

Murlesson would not let down his guard. “Yes, my lord. I found the holocron.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Unbelievable. One thousand years, buried in that tomb. Sith Lords passing it by. And then… the most unlikely person comes along. Tell me, how did you manage it?”

In a ridiculous way. “That’s my little secret.” Hard to believe no one had just cut it out of the rock with their lightsaber already.

She nodded now, approvingly. “Good. You guard your secrets well. This is a credit to you and a source of power. Though I personally prefer to be more open.” Did that mean she liked to brag, or that she wanted him to be more open with her? Of course she would the latter. She wouldn’t get it. “Your work so far – in bringing back this holocron and now the text from Tulak Hord’s tomb – has me intrigued. I am watching your progress eagerly.”

“Who are you?” he asked, though he had strong suspicions. Between the holocron, and the fact that she’d been watching…

She seemed startled again. “Oh! That. My apologies, acolyte. I am Lord Zash.” She offered him a gracious half bow. No one had ever bowed to him before. It seemed ill-fitting for a Lord to bow to a slave without any acknowledgement, so he bowed even more deeply in return. She seemed delighted. “What was your name again? Murgeson? Marteson?”

“Murlesson,” he said. “It’s an unimaginative Zabrak name that means ‘red-head’.”

She chuckled. “You certainly are. Well, I shouldn’t keep you waiting. I have high hopes for you, acolyte. Sky high.”

“Harkun seems to favour Ffon,” he said, curious if she knew about the blatant favouritism going on.

She made a dismissive gesture. “Harkun’s only purpose is to weed out the weak. Beyond that, his opinion means nothing. Good luck, acolyte. Good luck.” She smiled again and walked off.

He couldn’t help a bit of an un-servile swagger as he entered Harkun’s office. Harkun grimaced ferociously at him. “I was just about to send Ffon off. What delayed you, acolyte?”

Murlesson allowed himself a thin smirk. “Well, first Lord Zash stopped me to tell me how amazing I am, and then we got talking and I suppose I lost track of time.”

Harkun’s lip curled. “Just like a slave to make up stories. Lord Zash would crush you like a gizka if you ever crossed her path. You’re not worthy of her presence. You have the text? Give it here, quickly. You probably damaged it.”

He was in the tomb of Naga Sadow, and despite his general hatred and loathing of all things Sith, being in the actual tomb of the actual Naga Sadow, his source for scheming and tactics for most of his short life, filled him with a sort of awe. Almost reverence. Sure, it felt like all the other tombs, and there was no lack of things trying to kill him, and he had a headache from not having slept in 36 hours, but he was still _here_ and that was something.

There was a vast chamber filled with lightning. A long way away, he could see a beam of light and a bipedal creature of some sort suspended in it. Was that the Dashade? The cavern walls were sheer, with no way to climb over to the creature, but surely that hadn’t stopped the Sith before. He could think of twenty different ways to reach the place, even if it was booby trapped. Why did he need the four rods strapped to his back? He’d collected them throughout the tomb at Zash’s insistance, but Force rituals seemed unnecessary when technology would suffice. Yes, yes, technology was insignificant next to the power of the Force, all the books said, but any Sith who favoured the Force at the expense of technology was a rank fool in Murlesson’s eyes.

Why hadn’t some greedy Sith Lord just _built a bridge?_

Unless… Unless the Force itself was so potent in this place that only a Sith of sufficient power could pass through. Could that be it? He reached out with his senses, grown increasingly strong over the last month, and felt nothing particularly special. This entire planet was strong in the Dark Side of the Force, the tombs especially strong. This spot was not more than any other tomb.

Could it be that the all-powerful high Lords of the Sith cared more for testing their apprentices on ridiculous challenges than in acquiring power? That was illogical to the extreme. They were all crazy, completely crazy, and he was going to eradicate them from the galaxy. But first he had to pass this challenge of his own. He turned away from the silly chasm and went down the next corridor carved into the rock.

He came to the room required for the ritual; there was a great sealed door which bore a few minor scratches on it. No doubt Ffon had already come and gone. He planted the rods in the four corners, returned to the centre of the room, and waited.

Power coursed through him, Force lightning the likes of which gave him unpleasant flashbacks to Lord Netokos’s torture chambers. Crying out in agony, anger, and frustration, he fell to his knees – unconsciously mimicking the prostrate statues around him.

The door before him gave a great flash of light and grumbled open, revealing the Dashade.

Murlesson sat up, breathing hard, his hands and knees firmly planted on the ground. Gods, he hated the Sith. They never stopped using him as a punching bag, even when they were dead.

When he was feeling less shaky, he crawled to the side of the room and ate, drank, and simply rested for a while. The creature was sleeping, locked in stasis, but it was an angry being, he could tell already. Harkun had mocked him, saying if he even reached it, it would probably eat him. He would have to beat it into submission to survive and obtain its cooperation.

When he was ready, he got up and strode boldly towards the imprisoned creature. His approach must have triggered something, for the creature’s eyes opened, red slits in that ugly pale face. It blinked a few times as he studied it, and eventually it focused on him. When it had taken his measure, it gave a short bark of laughter, then began speaking in a gravelly language that somehow he understood.

< _Ha! All the world conspires to mock me! Haha!_ > It looked about, as if expecting someone else. < _Tulak Hord! I waited for you. I did everything you said! And this is what you send me?_ > It looked at him again, growling. < _Ha! Fate is cruel to me, little one. But not as cruel as it is to you. You have made a terrible mistake._ >

Murlesson shrugged. “These were the instructions Zash gave me. I am to free you and you will take me to the map in the final chamber of the tomb.” An ally of Tulak Hord, hmm? He knew Tulak Hord had been a great warrior, strong both in melee combat and the Force, a conqueror. He was short on specifics and tactics, however, so Tulak Hord was less of an inspiration than Naga Sadow.

The monster lifted its head proudly, reciting: < _I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, who was called Lord of Hate, Master of the Gathering Darkness, Dark Lord of the Sith. Together, Tulak Hord and I devoured our enemies at the battles of Yn and Chabosh and brought the entire Dromund system to its knees. And now I await his return._ >

“I hate to be the one to break it to you…” Murlesson said, only a little sarcastic, “but Tulak Hord is dead.” How long had Khem Val been locked here? Centuries, at least.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the creature was showing emotion. < _Dead? My lord, why didn’t you come for me? I would have died with you… no, I would have slain death itself… As for you, you should not have come here. For I hunger – and I will devour you!_ > It broke free of its stasis, dropping down to his level, advancing with sharp teeth and claws outstretched.

Even having been warned multiple times, it was a terrifying situation to face: a scrawny boy with a sharp stick, taking on an enormous killing machine of a monster. It was quick, and strong, but still disoriented and clumsy from its long imprisonment. He had a chance, and took it, ducking and weaving, throwing the Force between them in unrefined blasts as powerful as he could muster, knocking the creature back with his own lightning.

Claws lashed out at him and he jumped to the side, not even trying to block. He rebalanced and lunged for its chest, but it lashed out, gripping the training blade with its clawed paw, heedless of the hissing burns to its skin. His only weapon was ripped from his hands and cast away, back towards the door, and the monster jumped at him. Frantically, he reached out a hand and snatched the blade telekinetically from the air, blocking with all his strength. The monster’s weight crashed down on his guard and knocked him backwards head over heels; he sprang to his feet more quickly than it could recover, smacking it about the head and shoulders. It stumbled to its feet, swatting at him, and he jumped aside again, smacked it on the other side. Singed welts were appearing in its leathery skin.

The monster fell to its hands and knees; he raised his training sword to continue the beating, but it raised a hand in surrender and let out a disgusted laugh. < _Ha! Defeated! Defeated! Why did you not come for me, Tulak? Why have you allowed your servant to be reduced to this?_ > It struck its hands on the floor once, then slowly stood, head bowed in submission – but those red eyes were fixed on his with venom. < _Fine, little one. In my great weakness, you have defeated me, so I must serve you. This is the law that binds me. But you are not my master._ >

Murlesson shrugged. “Fine. Then let’s go.” He wasn’t going to offer medical treatment, either. The beast had to earn that; keeping it weak enough to defeat again was in his best interests at the moment.

< _As you say, little one. But someday I will regain my strength._ >

Ffon was pacing back and forth in Harkun’s office; Murlesson stopped just outside the door, cloaking himself in the Force, listening silently in amusement. “I’m telling you, overseer, it cannot be done. I went into the tomb, I saw the Dashade across the chasm, but I could not get to it.”

Harkun struck his desk with a fist. “But the map! The map! Lord Zash is adamant – she will not take an apprentice without the map!”

Ffon shook his head despairingly. “I’m telling you, Lord Zash wants the impossible. No one is ever going to get that map!” Had Harkun even told Ffon about the bonus tip Murlesson had been given? Or had he not, to spare his prized pupil’s precious feelings?

He stepped forward, affecting Aristheron’s confident stride. Khem followed, looming behind him. “You don’t mean this map, do you?”

Harkun stared and recoiled. “The map! And – the Dashade! G-get that monster out of here this instant! And give me the map.” He jumped forward and snatched the datapad from Murlesson’s hand, checking the contents.

Ffon’s jaw dropped, his expression torn between disgust and curiosity. “No, it’s not possible! You wretch, you filth – you must have cheated somehow. How did you do it? How did you release the monster?”

< _I am not a monster,_ > Khem Val growled ominously. < _I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, devourer of the rebels at Yn and Chabosh, consumer of the Dromund system. And I am hungry._ >

“R-right,” Ffon stammered. “You… you must have cheated, you must have. You’ll pay for this.”

“Ffon!” Harkun snapped. “Patience. You will have your chance at this whelp – after you personally deliver this map to Lord Zash.” He handed it to Ffon, who nodded and turned to leave.

Murlesson snarled. “Eat them both, Khem!” No one would know. He had the power. Finally, he had the power.

< _With pleasure._ > Khem stomped forward, and Ffon backed away in fear, drawing his blade. Harkun stepped toward him protectively. So Ffon’s boastfulness was all show.

“Keep your pet at bay for just a moment, Murlesson,” Lord Zash said placidly, entering before Khem could attack. “I would have a word with Ffon.”

Ffon blinked at her, suddenly even more afraid than before. He could smell it. “Lord Zash?”

She smiled at him, yet somehow her smiles were not as welcoming as the ones she’d given Murlesson. “Yes, Ffon. Now, where’s my map?”

“H-here, Lord Zash. R-right here.” He handed over the datapad quickly.

“ _You_ found it for me, Ffon?” Zash cooed. “How wonderful.”

He could tell she didn’t believe it, yet he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “As if he could find his own backside…”

“Silence!” Zash snapped, the first harsh word he’d heard from her. He didn’t jump. She went back to gentle and coaxing. “Ffon will tell me what happened, won’t you, Ffon? You wouldn’t dare lie to me, would you? Because it would be a shame for me to discover that you lied to me. Now, one more time – did you bring this map back from Naga Sadow’s tomb?”

Ffon stammered, shaking. “I-I- n-no. No. I didn’t. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He gulped audibly, sweating; Murlesson was suddenly struck by the fact that both he and Ffon had red skin, though they were different species.

Zash whirled on Harkun, flawless skin creasing into a contemptuous frown. “Harkun, you fool. In any other group for any other lord, this young man would have torn the other acolytes to shreds. What were you trying to prove? That you could outsmart me? That you knew better than me what kind of person I wanted for an apprentice? Fool!” As she spoke, she raised her hand, and though Ffon held up his arms to shield himself, it did nothing to block the powerful bolt of lightning that struck him. He screamed, thrashing, and fell to the floor where he twitched until finally falling completely still. Murlesson stared. Had Ffon not been part of the original pool of apprentices? He’d thought Harkun had simply picked the one of the lot he liked best. How naive of him. “There’s your pet, Harkun. Clean this mess up. Apprentice, meet me in my chambers upstairs.”

He inclined his head gravely. “As you say.” Zash swept out of the room; if it had a hinged door, she might have slammed it.

Harkun glared at Murlesson with greater fury and hatred than he’d even shown to that point. “This is not the end. Without Lord Zash to save you, you’re nothing. I have connections that will hunt you wherever you go.”

Murlesson sneered back. “If they’re as clumsy as your pet was, I have nothing to fear.” His gaze drifted to Khem. Yes, he’d made an enemy here. But Harkun was, as they all said, nothing in the grand scheme of things. A little dangerous, but not even worth the effort to eliminate.

Yet. Someday he’d destroy every last Sith, even the insignificant ones.

Harkun jabbed a harsh finger at him. “Get out of my sight, slave. Your new master is waiting for you upstairs.”

Once in the hall, he turned to Khem. “Find somewhere to stay out of sight until it is time to leave this place.” There wasn’t anything to be gained by intimidating Harkun further, and maybe something to be lost by advertising to the other acolytes that he had such a powerful servant at his command.

< _As you say, little one,_ > Khem said, and left without further acknowledgement.

He climbed the stairs to the second level and headed for her office. He entered without knocking, standing quietly in the corner until she bothered to notice him.

Which was immediately. She paused in gathering datapads and holocrons into a carrier and smiled warmly at him. “Ah, my magnificent new apprentice. Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” He actually mostly meant it, too.

“You’ve earned it, my apprentice. Now, I was just looking over this astonishing map you brought back, and I can tell we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“What is this a map of, exactly?”

She glanced meaningfully towards the door. “We can’t talk about it here – too many unfriendly ears. You must meet me on Dromund Kaas, in my chambers in the Citadel in Kaas City. There we can speak more freely of the work ahead. Ah, but first, I have a gift for you.” She opened a drawer on her desk and withdrew a long cylinder with curved spikes on each end. “This is the lightsaber I had as an apprentice. I want you to have it.”

He hefted it, tried the on button. It was a crimson double-bladed lightsaber. “Thank you.”

She smiled some more. “Excellent. I am glad you like it. It served me well.” He powered it off and found where to hang it from his belt, and then she wagged a finger at him. “Now, remember. My chambers. The Citadel. Dromund Kaas. It’s imperative that we get to work on this as soon as possible. I will be returning tonight by my own ship; you will take the shuttle to Vaiken tomorrow morning. Understood?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good. Oh, I am excited, Murlesson. Good night.” She waved cheerily at him and left the room at a brisk pace, the carrier hanging from her shoulder.

He lingered, looking around, trying to process the day’s events. His new lightsaber was heavy at his hip, and he wondered how long it would take to learn to use it. At this point it was just another Sith liability, and he was more likely to cut himself in half with it than kill the enemy. He would have to go out into the tombs for a while and slaughter shyracks.

As he trailed out of the office after Zash, he saw three approaching Sith and knew that he wouldn’t get the chance. “Stop right there, alien scum!” commanded their leader, gleeful bloodlust simmering through his aura. “Darth Skotia has a message for you.”

Murlesson glared, easing into a battle-ready crouch, hand on his saber but not drawing it yet. “Darth who?” He’d become so focused on the Academy’s internal politics he’d almost forgotten there was a larger galaxy out to get him.

The Sith smiled unpleasantly. “Darth Skotia is Lord Zash’s superior and your worst nightmare. The message is this: You will not go to Dromund Kaas. Everything you’ve done here, everyone you dealt with – Lord Zash included – is insignificant. Darth Skotia has eyes and ears on Korriban. He knows what your master is up to, and he is displeased to say the least. On Korriban, she may have had her way. But on Dromund Kaas, it’s a different story. So you see, you have to die.”

They weren’t on Dromund Kaas yet, they could stuff that. “If I ever meet him, I’ll try to remember to tremble,” he said insincerely. “And pass on condolences about your deaths.”

The unpleasant smile turned into a grin, and three lightsabers buzzed into life before him. Bloodlust surged viciously. “Oh, slave, I’m going to enjoy tearing you to bits.”

He thumbed his own saber on in response and backed up a step. The weight was completely different than the training sword he’d been using, and it had _two_ ends. He’d have to be careful where he stepped, he couldn’t fight more than one at a time. If he could hold them in the narrow doorway, he should be able to survive.

They were grinning as they advanced. They thought they could take him easily. He felt his hatred surge, black and cold, and flicked away the first saber that stabbed at him, following it with a blast of lightning. That apprentice hissed, shaking his stinging hand, and the next one dove at him, grinning a little less than before. He blocked the strike with one of his blades and kicked that one in the groin, but the lead Sith stepped in before he could capitalize on it, attacking so fiercely he had to give up precious ground. The enemy’s saber clipped his robes and he flinched, spinning his saber like a staff in a desperate attempt to keep his arms attached. His gift was aiding his reflexes, but he was distracted by too many things.

He was considering how much he was in over his head and wishing he could summon Khem Val with his mind, when he heard a feminine giggle. “Care to share?” A young woman stood at the entrance to the corridor behind the Sith, a heavy training blade over her shoulder, smiling cheerfully.

“Come then, acolyte, kill this slave, and Darth Skotia will reward you,” said the lead Sith, backing off for a moment.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, and her smile grew to a smug grin; her aura was hungry for violence. “What would be the fun in that?”

“You defy him, then?” demanded the Sith.

The woman laughed outright. “I’ve never heard of him. If he can touch the daughter of Count Volkov, I’ll be very, very surprised.”

“You will die, then! You, deal with the alien. I’ll take her.”

“Ha!” She sprang forward, psychotic glee in her eyes. Murlesson took advantage of the distraction to swing at his closest enemy, who blocked; he hadn’t attacked with enough force. Didn’t know how to apply the correct force. But speaking of the Force… He ducked low under the other Sith’s attack and made a leg sweep and a Force pull: the first Sith was taken off balance and stumbled forward, right into the second Sith’s lightsaber in his chest, offcentre. He shrieked, and as he did, Murlesson stabbed his own lightsaber through his throat.

One down, one to go. This one was shocked by the demise of his partner, and was taking Murlesson more seriously than before. He watched the man warily, stretching out his senses, hoping to know what the other was going to do before even he did. The Sith crouched warily, his eyes cautious and ugly now, sizing him up again.

When the attacks came, they were fast and hard; Murlesson’s spray of lightning went wild, burning a spot on the wall, and then he needed both hands for his lightsaber, letting his hatred carry him through the assault, hardly thinking, only reacting. But he couldn’t stay on the defensive forever. He couldn’t let fear hold him back. He gave way suddenly, stepping far back, regaining his own balance and forcing the Sith off his. He gave a flick of his saber upwards, and cut his opponent’s face in half. The Sith fell to the floor, and Murlesson focussed his attention on his unexpected aid.

She was fast, very fast, even though she wasn’t as well armed as her opponent; her feet moved like she was dancing, and she twirled her body and her blade with practiced ease. But the Sith’s attention was all on her, and none of it on Murlesson. Did he even realize his underlings were dead? Had he not heard the screaming? Murlesson crept up quietly behind him and plunged his lightsaber through the Sith’s back, killing him instantly.

As the Sith pitched over at her feet, she lowered her heavy training blade and grinned at him. “I suppose I’ll have to be faster next time. You stole my kill.”

“What happens now?” he asked warily. “Why did you help me? Who are you?”

She tossed her head. Her hair was white, unusual for a young human. Did she colour it? “I am Akuliina Volkova of the Volkovs of Kuat. I heard a fight; I joined in on the challenging side. It doesn’t matter too much who dies at the Academy, after all. What do you mean, what happens now? Did you want me to kill you, too?”

“No.” He snorted. “Really? That’s the only reason?”

She shrugged, leaning on the blade like a walking stick. “I just got here. I’ve been itching for action, to test myself, to prove myself. I’m not sure my overseer’s trials will be up to my standards. But it would be dishonourable to kill you too. Unless you want me to. What’s _your_ name, then?”

She would be a perfect shield if only he wasn’t leaving Korriban tomorrow and she was just starting. She was probably even more manipulable than Aristheron, too. He’d have to keep an eye out for her in the future, though even if she survived it could be months before she became someone’s apprentice. He knew he had gotten lucky. He shrugged. “Murlesson. I’ll remember this.” Although luck wasn’t even part of it. Zash had some ulterior purpose in her purported kindness. He still wasn’t properly _trained_. Even a Sith didn’t just get good at something by reading about it and then being blindly thrown at it.

“Good,” she said, and walked away.


	3. Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to go into detail about the first optional dungeon, and then Tharash (Aristheron's player) had the suggestion that it might be the place for Murlesson to win Aristheron’s interest, and then when I actually started getting into it I was like “look at all the potential for character development!” so that’s why I actually included a dungeon.
> 
> Aristheron is a Sith Warrior class, but since I already wrote a story about a Sith Warrior named Akuliina, Aristheron gets an entirely original subplot, and a band of companions who are clearly recognizable as Warrior companions but not identical.

Part 3: Alliance

He and Aristheron were the only two acolytes on the shuttle heading to the Imperial Fleet, the only two occupants, really. While Murlesson was still dressed in the acolyte’s robes he’d been given a month ago, somewhat ragged and worn after all his time in the tombs, Aristheron had acquired the armour of a Sith warrior somewhere. A circlet was on his head that had not been there before, and Murlesson wondered idly if it was a personal aesthetic choice, or a symbol of authority somewhere, perhaps of nobility on his home planet. Murlesson kept his hood over his own head, over his slowly lengthening hair. It was growing out, and he intended to let it keep going as long as it didn’t get in the way, a freedom he’d never had before. So far it was about two inches long and surprisingly silky, especially after one of the other acolytes had – mockingly – explained shampoo to him.

Even under the hood, he caught the human sending curious glances at his way more than once. “What?” he demanded after the fourth time. Khem Val rumbled sourly and ignored them both.

“Nothing,” Aristheron said calmly, in his deep smooth lordly voice, but Murlesson could feel his confusion all the more. Perhaps he was trying to place him in his memories? Just because Murlesson had watched him, had known him, didn’t mean the opposite was true.

As if to prove his point, Aristheron turned to him. “What was your name again?”

“Murlesson.”

“Right. I’m Aristheron Laskaris.”

“Yes. From Talcene.” Aristheron’s eyebrows rose, so Murlesson added: “I’d be a fool not to know who you were.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Aristheron said evenly. “And you’re from…?”

“Commenor,” Murlesson said reluctantly. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

Murlesson let his expression darken just a little. “I was a slave.” Khem rumbled again, more softly.

“I see. And yet you managed to graduate from Korriban at the same time as I.”

So Aristheron’s notice hadn’t entirely passed him over. Murlesson shrugged. “It wasn’t much different from before.”

“Interesting,” the human mused to himself, and their conversation ended.

They landed at Vaiken Spacedock, and Murlesson followed Aristheron at a slight distance – it was only natural, wasn’t it? He had to get to the Black Talon for the next part of his journey, but he didn’t know where he was going or who to talk to, and Aristheron looked like he knew what he was doing. He didn’t want to look dependent, so he kept his distance and tried to blend in. For once, he was afraid he was failing; there were so many bright lights everywhere to look at, he couldn’t help staring in every direction like a complete rube, the Force murmured restlessly, full of currents he couldn’t read, and the Dashade looming behind him didn’t help. So many Imperial uniforms, such strange upbeat music, such strange machines and terminals, and even a few more robed figures with lightsabers that made him feel wary – nowhere was safe from them in the Empire, was it?

There was a petite blue Twi’lek girl waiting outside the docking bay, scanning the faces in the crowd. When she saw Aristheron, she brightened, just a little – but Murlesson also read apprehension from her. She had a slave collar on. “E-excuse me, but you’re Lord Aristheron, right?”

“Who is it that asks?” Aristheron said.

“I’m Vany! Your master Lord Emment sent me to… uh, meet you, and serve you from now on to the best of my ability. Also he’s booked passage for you from here to Dromund Kaas on a transport called the Black Talon.”

“Very well,” Aristheron said. “Lead on.”

The girl looked at Murlesson. “What about your friend?”

Aristheron blinked, only just noticing Murlesson was still in his vicinity. “My- ah, him. He is not precisely my friend; he is an apprentice who gained his master at the same time that I did. I only just learned his name.”

“Actually, I have passage on the Black Talon as well,” Murlesson said. “Lord Zash wishes me to arrive on Dromund Kaas sooner rather than later.”

“Great!” the girl said. “The more, the merrier, right?”

< _So much chatter,_ > Khem Val grumbled. < _Are slaves really allowed to talk so much in this era?_ >

“I wasn’t,” Murlesson said absently, and caught a startled glance from the Twi’lek, who then looked nervously at the Dashade. She probably hadn’t seen one before; had probably only just figured out he was in the group. “She probably hasn’t been a slave very long.”

“Eheheh, no, I haven’t,” she said, with a slightly nervous giggle. “Couple weeks, really. And I’m determined not to let it change me!”

“We’ll see how well that works out,” Murlesson muttered to himself.

“Excuse me,” Aristheron said. “That is none of your business. Kindly leave her alone.”

“My apologies.” Murlesson fell back, trailing the other Sith by a wide margin. But he should be more polite to the girl, as it looked like Aristheron would take it as a compliment to himself. And he didn’t miss the smile Vany gave her master as he defended her. Yes, the message had been received loud and clear by all parties.

“And your droid has been sent to your quarters,” said the Black Talon lieutenant, while she was welcoming them aboard.

Murlesson and Aristheron exchanged glances. “It must be yours,” Murlesson said. He’d never had a droid, Zash hadn’t said anything about a droid, and Aristheron was nobility of some sort, surely it belonged to him.

But Aristheron shook his head. “I don’t recall a droid here. Is there some mistake?”

“No, my lords,” said the lieutenant, sweating slightly. “It mentioned you both by name.”

Murlesson frowned slightly. Someone was keeping an eye on him that closely…? And Aristheron as well? It couldn’t be Zash, she had no interest in Aristheron… Could it be this Darth Skotia? He resolved to be more wary than usual.

“Very well, then,” Aristheron said, and led the way deeper into the ship.

Their ‘quarters’ appeared to be a pair of bunkrooms off a common room that connected to the main guest corridor. A protocol droid was standing in the common room. “Master Aristheron and Master Murlesson, identity confirmed. Good day – I am advanced protocol unit NR-02. My functions are diplomacy, translation, manslaughter, and calumniation. I have an urgent message for you from my master. Please stand by for delivery.”

“With whom?” Aristheron said sharply, approaching the droid confidently.

“I don’t like any of this,” Murlesson growled, leaning against the wall by the door with arms folded. He hated being thrown into situations blind. Khem hovered beside him, and Vany waited on the other side of the door, looking around curiously.

The droid did not respond to either of them. “This is unit NR-02 to Grand Moff Kilran. You are now in contact with the Black Talon.”

A Grand Moff, eh? Murlesson decided to keep his mouth shut unless specifically spoken to. He still wasn’t sure how exactly he was supposed to speak to those in power. But Aristheron was used to it. The droid began to project a hologram of a large, strongly built man in a neat uniform, smiling confidently. “Well, so I am! And it seems you’ve brought me just the men I’ve been looking for. My name is Rycus Kilran. I’m commander of the Fifth Fleet, second to the Minister of War, and – my personal favourite – the so-called ‘Butcher of Coruscant’.”

“To what do we owe the honour?” Aristheron asked.

“How did you find us?” Murlesson asked more quietly. He had _just_ told himself to play it safe, but… he had a burning need to know. _Why are you watching us? How expendable are we to you?_

Kilran’s genial smile didn’t change. “It’s apparent I need another pair of hands. So I asked NR-02 to check the ship’s passenger manifest. Recent graduates of Korriban should find this assignment challenging, but straightforward. Six hours ago, the Republic engaged in an illegal border skirmish on the edges of Imperial territory. One enemy warship escaped. That warship, the Brentaal Star, is carrying a passenger of vital strategic importance. Yours is the only vessel placed to intercept. The warship’s passenger is code-named ‘the general’. We don’t know his identity, but the Republic believes he possesses military secrets – _our_ military secrets. I trust the reports; the general must be captured or killed. However, Captain Orzik doesn’t share my enthusiasm. He’s disobeyed my orders to attack. Feel free to show him what the Empire does to cowards. Then commandeer his ship, find the Brentaal Star, and deal with the general.”

“Understood,” Aristheron said. “We should be happy to assist. The Republic will regret their rash action.”

“Truly, it’s comforting to find patriots in this age of skirmishes and border disputes. We need individuals like you if we’re to survive the next great war. Kilran out.”

Murlesson glared at the spot where Kilran’s projection had been a moment longer. Roped into something that had nothing to do with him, this was only a distraction from his future. He glanced at Aristheron. Unless…

“I will lead the way,” the droid was saying to Aristheron. “We may encounter resistance from the Black Talon’s security.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Aristheron said. “I imagine speed is required; however, I shall attempt first to incapacitate them. The less Imperial blood we can shed, the better.”

“I can help there,” Murlesson spoke up. “I have some ability to cloud minds. I’ll march them right back into their quarters.”

Aristheron looked at him in appraisal and Murlesson stared stubbornly back. “I am glad to hear it, then. Shall we?”

Wordlessly, Murlesson fell in behind the human and they began to march towards the ship’s bridge. His hearts were beginning to beat faster and he forced himself to stay calm. Technically, this was no different from anything he’d done on Korriban.

Except it was, it was completely different. He was on a spaceship, he was armed with a lightsaber he’d used once in his life, he had allies – _plural_ – and there were all kinds of politics going on that he didn’t know the nuances of. And the grand moff’s implication had been that their task was going to be exceptionally difficult, even if he had also said “straightforward”. There was probably going to be open fighting. He’d never been involved in open fighting. With blasters.

He couldn’t show weakness in front of anyone here, least of all Khem. He’d just have to wing it and pretend he knew what he was doing. If he died, it didn’t matter. If he survived and was helpful, Aristheron might finally notice him as a potential ally. One step at a time, right?

First step: get Aristheron to the bridge without anyone dying. Given how well he know how to use his lightsaber, it was probably easier to bend all their minds than to stab them all, anyway. Now the challenge would be: how many guards would there be, and could he handle them all at the same time? Especially the ones who were going to be alert. He flexed his fingers. Such an action didn’t help him control the Force any better, but it reassured him. But he was going to need as much power as he could muster, and let his fear and hatred well up around his chest, even as he hid himself in plain sight, shuffling obsequiously behind Aristheron.

There was a force-field gate across the corridor leading to the bridge, and four armed guards looking and feeling alert. The foremost one stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Halt! My lord, this is a restricted area. You’ll have to leave immediately.”

“I suggest you back off before someone gets hurt,” Aristheron said smoothly.

The soldier frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Murlesson inhaled deeply and raised his right hand from behind Aristheron’s shoulder. “You will let us pass.” He fumbled for the man’s mind, for all four of their minds. So much more difficult than simply influencing them to ignore him.

“Huh- wha-” Murlesson gritted his teeth and twisted harder. “…I… will… let you pass.” One of the guards stepped to the force-field controls and deactivated them. Oh, this was power. He hadn’t done this on this scale before, but it was not lack of strength that was holding him back, it was only inexperience.

“Well done,” Aristheron said approvingly, quietly, as they stepped through.

“Thanks,” Murlesson mumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. The guards behind reactivated the force-field and took no further notice of them. “How many more are there likely to be?”

“Not too many, I imagine. Perhaps once or twice more. We’ll take the bridge crew completely by surprise.” _If_ Murlesson could pull it off again. It had been more of a strain than he’d anticipated.

There was another set of guards at an airlock ahead of them, and likely to be another set inside the airlock. Now he had the hang of it, he could live up to his boast earlier. Probably. They were even more alert than the first ones, but he was already reaching out to their minds, already putting suggestions into them, that the people walking up to the doors had every right to be there. A Sith, a Twi’lek, a Zabrak, a droid… and a Dashade, a monster none of them would have seen before. No, their senses struggled against him, their gazes suspicious upon all of them – but Aristheron walked up to the doors as if they weren’t even there, and they did not draw their weapons. And the ones on the other side of the door… he could feel their minds, but without being able to see them, he was less confident about controlling them. He’d have to be fast when the doors opened.

“I hope this isn’t the plan for dealing with the Republic ship,” Murlesson said under his breath to Aristheron.

“Of course not,” Aristheron replied in kind. “We will strike the Republic hard; anyone who draws a weapon on us in there must be cut down.”

“Oh, good,” Murlesson said. The door slid open and he grabbed for the minds ahead of him. The guards, startled, were raising weapons- he had to stop, grit his teeth, shut his eyes, clench his hands, and _focus_ … One, two, three, they lowered their weapons… He had to keep control of the four behind… The fourth was slipping, his weapon still raised. “K-Khem,” Murlesson ground out in a strangled voice. “Knock him-” Khem struck the last guard on the head, and he crumpled to the ground. “-Door-”

But that was too much for the others, and they snapped free of his control. Vany whirled to shut the door behind them, and lock it, and he could let go of the ones outside and fully impose his will on the ones in front of him, before they’d even gotten their weapons half-raised. “Go to sleep,” he snarled, and they collapsed like the one Khem had knocked out. He had to lean over, breathing hard, hands on his knees. He was sweating. This wasn’t anything like what he’d had to do before.

Aristheron hadn’t even had to unsheathe his lightsaber. “I’ll take it from here,” the human said, and walked into the bridge.

Everyone looked up at the Sith in his armoured robes, striding arrogantly right up to the captain at the viewport. There were several more guards stationed around the edge of the room, and they raised their guns, but at the first one to fire, Aristheron drew his scarlet saber and blocked the bolt in a blink, then thrust his hand towards the guard. The man was flung backwards against the wall, sliding down to lie still. The bridge crew went completely silent, staring. Vany followed nervously in her master’s wake, a hand on her pistol, uncertain whether she should draw it or not. Aristheron advanced on the captain with lightsaber raised in a guard position. The droid trotted along serenely, and Murlesson and Khem crept in behind.

“What’s going on, sir?” asked an anxious-looking officer into the tense silence.

“Stay calm, ensign. Everyone stay calm,” said a man who must be the captain. “I think I know what this is about. Guards, lower your weapons.”

“No additional threats detected,” said the droid in its annoyingly superior voice. “The bridge is now secure.”

“You are Captain Orzik, are you not?” Aristheron said to the captain, lowering his lightsaber and sheathing it. “I am Aristheron Laskaris, and I am taking control of this vessel under the direction of Grand Moff Kilran.”

“I am Captain Revinal Orzik. For the record, I take full responsibility for my actions.”

“Commendable sentiment, but you still disobeyed a direct order from the Grand Moff,” Aristheron said, icy intent in his voice.

“Yes,” said the captain. “I did not know he would respond this way. Court-martial upon arrival at Dromond Kaas, perhaps, but at least my crew would survive- Perhaps he just hates me. My lord, the Black Talon will be destroyed chasing a warship. I fought in the war before, and I’ll fight again – but I don’t do suicide missions.”

“I have no intention of running a suicide mission,” Aristheron said, still cold. “You will obey me, and I will ensure we all get out alive.”

“I expect you believe that, but I cannot,” said Orzik. “You have seized command of _this_ ship, but the Brentaal Star is something else entirely. I might be able to get us close, but then you’ll have to board it, fight an army of Republic soldiers, and somehow find this general. It’s unacceptable.”

“It’s inevitable,” Aristheron countered. “We have not shed a single drop of Imperial blood in taking this ship. It will be far easier to fight openly against Republic soldiers. You are welcome to your analysis, Captain, but it changes nothing: we’re going after that ship.”

“I see.” Orzik bowed his head. “Thank you for making that clear. It seems I have very little choice in the matter. You have my crew – I’ll cooperate, for now.”

“Have faith, Captain,” Aristheron said. “Droid?”

The droid transmitted orders to the bridge crew, and the silence began to buzz with activity. Murlesson didn’t know what to make of it, and kept looking around in a very twitchy way. He didn’t sense any threats, no hostile intent left in the crew, though there was plenty of resentment and fear to go around, with a rising undercurrent of resigned determination. Vany saw him and beckoned him up to the front to stand with Aristheron. He straightened – now was not the time to be unnoticed, now was the time to pretend he was one of those feared Sith Lords, to back up Aristheron’s authority – and walked as confidently as he could to join them. Captain Orzik greeted him with a nod, and he nodded back, but did not speak. He let the bustle pass him by, felt the ship lurch into hyperspace, watched the swirling lights in fascination.

“Ah, Murlesson,” Aristheron greeted him. “Have you any ideas for our assault on the main ship?” He asked in a low tone, conversationally, so that if Murlesson did not have any ideas, he wouldn’t be embarrassed.

Murlesson thought for a moment. He certainly did have ideas. “I am sorely lacking in information, but I gather that we are outnumbered and outgunned, yes?”

“Yes indeed.”

“I cannot recall any exact parallels, but in the Battle of Hextor V, Naga Sadow used his inferior fleet to draw the fire of the ground fortress while he and small hand-picked team infiltrated quietly from the rear. We might do something similar, if this transport is equipped with shuttles.”

“It is. I approve of your plan.” Aristheron turned to Captain Orzik. “Captain, after we emerge from hyperspace, I will require you to make a distraction, pacing them at range, while a shuttle delivers my companions and me to the Brentaal Star. Have you any shuttle pilots good enough for such a drop?”

“I will give you my best pilot, but I do not know if he can do it,” the captain said frankly.

“Perhaps it would be best that I do it myself, then,” Aristheron said. “Murlesson, take Vany and your companion and await me in the shuttle bay. Here is my commlink frequency – you have a commlink, do you not? Contact me when you arrive.”

“Yes,” Murlesson said, and strode off quickly. “Vany, where am I going?” he hissed as they got closer to the bridge entrance. He hadn’t had time or opportunity to look up a map of the ship, and he’d never been on a ship like this.

“I gotchu,” she said back, smiling, taking the lead.

They were in the elevator down to the shuttle bay when the Black Talon exited hyperspace, and he staggered a little as the inertial forces shifted around him. The last time he’d been in hyperspace, he’d been sitting for entry and exit. It seemed a lot safer. Vany gave him a sympathetic look, then led them on as the door opened.

Beyond was a small hangar with three small shuttles docked side-by-side in it, and beyond, a magcon field showcasing a black starfield. Shortly after they entered, red lasers became visible, shooting past the hangar entrance, and then the Black Talon turned and they could see the ship firing on them. Before them lay a ship of strange design, so distant it was difficult to see, but the turbolaser fire was still coming worryingly close to them.

There wasn’t anything he could do about that, so he pulled his little-used commlink from his pocket and turned it to the frequency Aristheron had given him. “Aristheron. We are here.”

“I read you,” Aristheron said. “I will join you momentarily. Please warm up shuttle number two.”

“Shuttle number two,” Murlesson said to Vany, and she nodded, leading the way. Apparently the shuttle technicians had been told to expect them, and one of them assisted Vany in turning the shuttle on. Murlesson hovered grimly in the passenger area before sitting and strapping himself in. He was useless here. Khem was already strapped in, inspecting his talons.

Aristheron was a little longer than expected, before jogging up the shuttle ramp. “My apologies – a Jedi Master called to ask us nicely to leave. An unusual tactic, I must say… Ineffective, but I appreciated it.”

“I suppose we’re not leaving, huh?” Vany asked.

“Of course not. We have a mission to complete.” Aristheron settled into the pilot’s seat, not even strapping in, and accelerated hard. Murlesson flinched and clung to the passenger restraints.

“This shouldn’t be working,” Vany muttered to herself. “Seriously, won’t they notice us on sensors?”

“The Republic won’t fear a boarding party of our size,” Aristheron said to her, weaving the ship around more turbolaser blasts. “They’ll devote far less firepower to shooting us down, choosing instead to arrange a reception for us. Just follow my lead when we arrive, Vany.”

“Yes, master!” She seemed awfully chipper for being led into such grave danger.

The Republic ship was looming large before them now, the white rectangle of a magcon field steadily growing in the forward viewport. The shuttle jerked and shuddered under a particularly close miss, and Murlesson flinched once again in his crash harness.

Aristheron didn’t so much land the shuttle as let it skid to a stop in the middle of the Brentaal Star’s hangar, leaving the controls before they were even down and dashing for the exit. “With me!” His lightsaber flashed out, and as the boarding ramp dropped and the steam of the settling shuttle poured around it, blaster bolts began to strike around him. Vany dropped into a crouch, briefly covering her head before pulling out her little blaster pistol and firing back. Murlesson finally fought free of the crash harness and followed as Aristheron began to advance down the ramp, lightsaber whirling as he deflected most of the bolts.

Murlesson had no idea how to deflect bolts, and he wasn’t going to start this second. With Khem at his heels, he darted forward, stance crouched low, lightsaber unlit but in his hand. He had better ways to take care of multiple enemies at once. Hatred boiled in his gut, and he let it flow down his left arm and through his clawing fingertips.

Lightning burst from his fingers, lancing over one, two, four of the Republic soldiers. They barely had time to scream before they dropped to the floor. One of them was down already from one of Aristheron’s deflected bolts, and now there were only three left. Aristheron lunged forward, Khem charged, and in only a few more seconds there were no more Republic soldiers.

Aristheron nodded to them, then raised his commlink to his lips. “We have gained a foothold, Captain. Continue to pace the Brentaal Star.”

“Understood, my lord.”

Vany hurried down the ramp to catch up to them as Aristheron picked a direction and jogged off. “Did you just make lightning appear out of nowhere?” she asked Murlesson.

He shrugged as he jogged. “It’s a trick I can do. It’s hardly unique among Sith.”

“ _I’ve_ never heard of such a thing. It’s… kinda cool.” As long as she didn’t look at the smoking bodies, he noticed.

More than one rival acolyte on Korriban had fallen to that manifestation of the Force, once he’d figured out how to use it. All he really cared about was that it was effective. But… “I suppose it is.”

“Quickly,” Aristheron urged them. “They will be sending reinforcements. Once they realize they are boarded by Sith, they may send the general to the escape pods.”

“Here they come!” Vany cried, as a platoon of Republic soldiers clattered around a corner and took up defensive positions.

Fear soared through him, fear and a roar of darkness, fed by and overpowering the fear. The next few minutes passed by in a blur, as they advanced deeper into the ship, slaughtering everything in their path. He was aware of nothing but the struggle for survival, the Force surging through him, guiding him away from the blaster fire, the flamethrowers, the grenade explosions, and granting him deadly speed and power against the ones trying to kill him. He was barely aware of his companions’ actions, though more than once he saw Khem tearing an unfortunate soldier limb from limb, and Aristheron was in the thick of every confrontation, proud and indomitable, nigh-untouchable by the Republic. He had enough wits about him to use each situation to his advantage, letting Aristheron draw the attention of the enemy, then suddenly springing upon them from the flank, either raking them with lightning or slashing at them savagely with his double-bladed saber.

Only when they reached the engine antechamber did he have time or focus to register more of his surroundings, but then there was really only one thing to focus on – the slight figure of a green-skinned Twi’lek wielding a green lightsaber. Fear and determination warred in her eyes, but she stepped forward stubbornly to meet them. “Halt where you are! I am Yadira Ban, Padawan of the Jedi Order. I was sent to protect the general, and you will not pass.”

“Khem, watch for reinforcements,” Murlesson ordered his monster in a low voice.

< _But I wanted to eat the little Jedi,_ > Khem whined. Murlesson shot him a vicious glare, and the Dashade stomped away sullenly. Khem had fought plenty of Jedi in his past, he was sure. He needed the experience more than Khem needed to indulge himself.

“Surrender the general, and I will allow you and the Brentaal Star to go,” Aristheron said. “Vany, go with the Dashade.” Vany made an unhappy face but did as she was told.

The Jedi glared at them with righteous anger. “I cannot accept that. A Jedi does not surrender the innocent into the hands of evil. But I intend to drive you back, meter by meter, if need be. Just as the Republic pushed the Sith Empire into the dark of the galaxy!” She brandished her lightsaber at them defiantly, and then attacked.

Murlesson’s gaze flicked past her momentarily to the engine room door. Aristheron had said at some point there would be escape pods back there; undoubtedly this general was past her. She wouldn’t sacrifice her life for a mere distraction if their target were on the other end of the ship. As Aristheron slid forward to engage her head-on, Murlesson lunged to the side. The padawan was quite short; she didn’t have reach on either him or Aristheron. He wondered how it was that _she_ wasn’t intimidated by them, but noticed she was muttering some mantra repeatedly under her breath.

So he let himself fall into the flow of the Force. He wouldn’t be able to hide himself from someone so strong in the Force herself, but he could confuse her, distract her, even strike her with lightning if she let her guard down. He didn’t even think of engaging her with his lightsaber. It was not entirely due to the Force that he’d avoided being shot so far, and he didn’t like pushing his luck in this situation. She was better than Murlesson was, by a long shot, but not nearly as good as Aristheron. It was a good thing he wasn’t alone.

Lightsabers clashed with a spray of sparks, and the Jedi grunted in exertion, before spinning away to counter his attack. He gave her a curious look over her saber. “Hold on,” he said. “You’re the first Jedi I’ve met. Are they all this hopelessly naive?”

“I’m afraid most are,” Aristheron said, switching places with him seamlessly, as if they’d been fighting together for months, not a half-hour.

“Excuse you,” said the padawan, Force-pushing them until they staggered. “Just because I do what is right doesn’t mean I’m naive!”

“Oh?” Murlesson smirked, countering her push with lightning. “Just how innocent is the person you’re protecting?”

She frowned in confusion, catching the lightning on her blade. “Whoever he is, whatever his past, he is under Jedi protection now.” She flicked her saber, and the lightning arced back towards him.

“That didn’t answer my question, but it doesn’t really matter, I suppose,” Murlesson said, ducking his own lightning. “I don’t actually care if you’re right or wrong. I just want to get this over with.”

“You will not win,” the girl said, her lightsaber whirling as she came at them again.

“I’m sorry,” Aristheron said politely. “You cannot stop us or scare us.”

The girl slashed at Aristheron repeatedly, trying to break past his guard. “I don’t need to scare you, only defeat you. And that, I can do.” And though Aristheron was staying calm, he did look to be a little hard-pressed.

“Foolish,” Murlesson said, attacking her from the other side. “Jedi are not invincible simply because they’re Jedi.”

She flung her arms out, knocking them both back again; this blast was so violent he fell on his back. “I don’t believe that. Don’t stereotype!” She leaped at him while he was sprawled on the ground, lightsaber raised for a killing blow.

Time slowed, and he flexed his body, kicking upwards. Her swing went wide, and he rolled, and she landed beyond him with a thud, spinning to face him and drive him back. He braced himself; he couldn’t weather the same storm that Aristheron had and backed away. “Hypocrite.”

“I’m not a-!” She visibly collected herself, muttering her mantra some more, and her strokes became fiercer, heavier, faster. He shoved her back with the Force before she could get a hit in on him; she wasn’t the only one who could push people around. He was feeling a little desperate, she recovered very quickly and doing it again would provide even less result…

Until Aristheron intercepted her newest attack, catching her off-balance, sending her back again. As she flailed to recover, the Sith warrior struck her guard away and stabbed her through the chest.

As Aristheron withdrew his lightsaber, the Jedi made a small choking cry, clutching the fatal wound. Her face frozen in agony, she toppled to the floor, her lightsaber rolling a little away from her outstretched hand.

Aristheron switched off his own lightsaber and bowed politely to her corpse before turning to Murlesson. “Come, we must secure the general. He could have already attempted to escape.”

“We’ll get him back if he has,” Murlesson said. He wondered if he still had the energy to pull an escape pod around with the Force. Supposedly, the only limit on wielding the Force was entirely mental, he should be able to do it – any Sith ought to be able to do it. And yet he wished for a rest…

But the general hadn’t gone anywhere, bleeding from an injury to his own abdomen. Murlesson watched for reinforcements as Aristheron took the man into custody, and when the injured prisoner couldn’t move fast enough back to the shuttle bay for him, picked him up with the Force and floated him along as if on repulsors. It allowed them to move at a brisk jog.

The Republic intercepted them anyway. “Keep going!” Aristheron shouted, taking up a guarding stance. “He must be returned to the Black Talon at all cost!”

“Understood,” Murlesson replied crisply, then remembered something. “But you’re the only one who can fly the shuttle. You’d damn better well not die!”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Aristheron replied, with a tight chuckle as Murlesson and the companions hurried off. Laser bolts flashed around them, but Aristheron blocked the important ones, and then they were around the corner.

Yet more Republic popped out of a side corridor. “Get them, Khem!” Murlesson ordered, and Khem growled as he lunged at them. They screamed and tried to run, shooting wildly at Khem.

“Will he be all right?” Vany asked, as they ran faster.

“Aristheron will bring him back, I’m sure,” Murlesson said. “Anyway, that’s Khem’s problem, not mine.”

“That’s a little cold,” she said, frowning at him.

“I won’t insult either him or me by coddling him,” he answered. “His last master was far harsher.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“You’re standing up for a Dashade assassin?”

“I’m standing up for the decency of sentient life!”

“You’re absolutely bizarre- more enemies!” He made rapid calculations. He could get the general back to the shuttle far faster, but Vany wouldn’t be able to hold them off. “Take him and go!”

“You’re sure-”

“I said go!” Murlesson set the general down on his feet and turned back to the Republic soldiers. He couldn’t deflect half a dozen blaster bolts, certainly not at once. Good thing he didn’t need to. A blurring of their senses, a short sprint to close the distance as their shots missed around him, letting the fear fuel his feet, his senses. A blast of lightning to take out as many as he could, and then to finish them off with the lightsaber.

It should have worked, but there was more blaster fire, coming from behind him now – he was surrounded!

“Hold there!” Aristheron shouted, Khem at his heels, charging into the newcomers. “You’re clear!”

“Thank you,” Murlesson said, and they rejoined Vany together, jumping into the shuttle and rocketing away from the Republic ship.

Back in the Black Talon’s lounge, he curled up in a corner, staring out into hyperspace, trying to sort through everything that had happened. He stiffened and glanced up when he saw a bearded reflection approaching in the viewport.

“You are better than I expected,” Aristheron said. “I will have to keep an eye on you.”

Murlesson allowed himself the barest of smirks, still giddy after having survived everything. “So I managed to avoid being dead weight as well as just dead.”

“Yes. But you have no idea how to wield that blade. Did no one at the Academy teach you anything?”

“No. I’ll figure it out.” They’d showed him how to use the lightning, and how to fight with a single-bladed weapon, but not the double-bladed one. Besides, he had so many other tools at his disposal. He could cloak himself in the Force and stab his targets in the back. He could claw tooth and nail and vibroblade, wield telekinesis and lightning and turn a victim’s own mind and body against them. He could probably explode someone’s chest or head if he thought about it hard enough. He had enough to survive without begging for help from – showing weakness to – the first person he worked with as an equal.

Aristheron sighed and shook his head. Murlesson could tell he was wondering how he’d graduated without this vital Sithy skill. “You’re hopeless. It’s only a testament to your skill in the Force that you managed not to kill yourself on this mission. Basically, you’re still using it like a single-bladed lightsaber. If you will, I can show you some basics so that you don’t die on me immediately next time.”

Murlesson stared. He hadn’t expected such a blunt and open offer. “You would show a slave these things?”

Aristheron frowned at him in slight incomprehension, a crease appearing between his dark brows. “Why does that consume you so much? I truly don’t care what you were or where you came from. What matters is that you are Sith, and you should act as such.”

The human didn’t understand what slavery meant, and he still had an unconscious arrogance that suggested he would always consider himself superior to Murlesson for whatever reason, birth or species or whatever, but in a way he was right – that didn’t matter right now. Murlesson slowly unhooked the lightsaber and handed it over. Aristheron was honourable. He’d do as he said.

Aristheron himself was not extraordinarily skilled or trained in the tricks of a double-bladed lightsaber, preferring a single blade as he did, but he wove it through loops and whirls that made him into an unapproachable maelstrom of death. Murlesson watched in attentive fascination, trying to formulate how to mimic what he was seeing, where to start his progression to mastery.

And it seemed that he didn’t even know where to start, as the first thing Aristheron began to show him wasn’t how to spin the lightsaber like that, but how to place his feet. Which was a bit annoying, he knew the value of good balance, he’d been fighting since he was… eleven-ish, but ego couldn’t get in the way of additional knowledge. Especially with this rare chance to learn with someone who wasn’t blatantly out to kill him.

“Tell me about Jedi,” he said to Aristheron in the middle of the coaching. “I only heard whispers of them when I was a child. I had no actual knowledge of them before I met the one today.”

Aristheron frowned at his ignorance, but obliged. “Some of them are fierce warriors, but too many of them seem inclined to talk their opponents to death. Some of them even show the capability of wielding real power, military power, political power. However, they seem to hold it taboo to actually apply their power, and so they are largely ineffective as the ‘peace-keepers’ they claim to be. There is one, known only as The Rurouni, who could be a general in their military, and chooses to be a vagabond instead. A waste. Now do the steps again.”

“So they are hardly the supernatural heroes the other slaves held them as,” Murlesson said, doing the steps again. And again. And again, for good measure.

“Yes, and no. They are bound by rigid tradition and code, and many of them, no matter their strength in the Force, spend their time shut away from the world. How does that make anyone a hero?”

< _This is nonsense,_ > Khem Val rumbled. < _Jedi are not heroes. Jedi are weak, mewling things that use the Light Side of the Force – so my master said._ >

“And that makes them inferior?” Murlesson asked. He had a vague idea of the Light and Dark sides of the Force, and that most Sith were vehemently opposed to the concept of the Light Side, that they spoke of it with scorn. That Aristheron had not mentioned it before now was strange, but then again he did seem more open-minded than most of the other Sith in the Academy.

“I disagree,” Aristheron said, adding a few more steps onto the sequence they were practicing. “It is not the side of the Force that they use, but the manner in which they use it. That girl – she stood her ground against overwhelming adversaries, and now she is dead and her mission failed, no matter how strong she was. If she were Sith, even a Light-Sided Sith, do you not think she would have found another way?”

“Hm,” Murlesson said, not certain what his own opinion was. “I don’t know any Light-Sided Sith, so I can’t answer that.”

“You have great strength in the Dark, that much is clear,” Aristheron said. “Now only practice what I’m showing you, and you’ll be able to ask a Jedi yourself, someday, and live to tell the tale.”

By the end of the day, between the battle and the coaching session, he learned more about fighting than he’d ever been taught in the entire month at the Academy. Aristheron was a tough teacher, demanding, relentless, but surprisingly patient. Vany watched everything with her chin in her hands, smiling in wonderment. Khem ignored them all.


	4. Mud, Blood, and Artefacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there’s a lot of Aristheron in this chapter, but he and Murlesson are inextricably linked in their paths and destinies, eheheheh. Also, level-grinding montage! Murlesson would totally play bard in DnD: put points in random stuff and be ready for anything! Though I'm playing a Murlesson-expy in a DnD campaign right now and I chose to be a warlock. But Murlesson himself would play bard.
> 
> Now, I _know_ why Bioware wrote the Skotia fight the way they did. The Trandoshan tablet relic was supposed to be indicative of the Inquisitor’s interest in objects of power; however, probably the real failing was that Zash just exposits at you what it is and what it’s for. I know she was the one doing the planning “for years”, but if the Inquisitor had been the one to find it, and find out what it was for, it would have been far more satisfying, given a feel that s/he’s smart, and, well, inquisitive, rather than a sassy meathead that just does as s/he’s told. So that’s what happens here, even if I decided not to get too deep into it (it’s only used for this one quest, after all). It does make Zash a bit less knowledgeable, and it still feels stupid, and Murlesson lampshades that it feels stupid, but it’s worse in the game imo.
> 
> Crazy Sith break-down music is Corpse Party's [Chapter 3 Opening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odq9Ot1sP04)! :D

Part 4: Mud, Blood, and Artifacts

“How lovely to see you, apprentice!” Zash greeted him cordially when he arrived in her little office in the overwhelmingly massive Sith Sanctum. “How was your journey?”

“It was fine,” Murlesson brushed off the inquiry. “Are you acquainted with a big ugly half-machine Dark Lord? He had a message for you. Several, actually.”

“Damn Skotia!” Zash burst out. “What business has he, going behind my back, speaking to my apprentice? Trying to intimidate you, no doubt. Wretched cyborg monster, but dangerously powerful. Ever since I arrived on Dromund Kaas as an apprentice, he’s made every effort to stand in my way.”

< _He is flesh,_ > Khem Val said. < _He can be killed_.>

Zash sighed and shook her head. “Ultimately, we cannot even begin the search for Tulak Hord’s ancient power with Skotia’s rattling breath on our necks.” Murlesson tried not to react, but inside, he perked up. Tulak Hord? Really? Khem would probably have a thing or two to say about this young-ish, devious Sith woman taking his illustrious master’s power. What did she even mean by ‘Tulak Hord’s power’? “So, _you_ are going to kill Skotia for me.”

Murlesson blinked. Impossible task, right off the bat. But her attitude did not suggest she considered him cannon fodder…

“I cannot be tied to Skotia’s murder, you see. Brazen power plays make the Dark Council nervous. But nobody will believe that a mere apprentice could defeat Skotia. It’s impossible, and that’s why it will work. However, before _that_ , I must determine the extent of your education and amend any deficiencies. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t had formal schooling, yes?”

“I have not,” Murlesson answered. Training for a slave was more about deportment and etiquette, duties and punishments, not math and science. He was constantly reminded of it when he blanked on what seemed to others to be the simplest of things, and Khem was no help at all. Aristheron’s slave, Vany, seemed willing to help him out, but she couldn’t babysit him, she had to serve Aristheron.

“I gained the impression from your teachers that you were remarkably well-read in Sith texts, but lacking in virtually every other subject. So: I have arranged for a tutor who will ensure that you are educated at least up to your age level. How old are you again? Your file didn’t say.”

“I think I’m sixteen…ish standard years, but I don’t know either,” Murlesson confessed. “Do I have time for that? It sounds like my other tasks will be more important.”

Zash shook her head. “I will make what allowances I can in the missions I assign you, but you must _make_ time. Remember, every piece of knowledge has use, and you must learn as much as you can. For instance: I’m sure you have no idea how to pilot a starship, and under normal circumstances, that is not a problem. Many people don’t know either, and I’m looking into hiring a pilot for when you must travel away from Dromund Kaas. However, there may arise a situation in which you must fly a ship yourself; therefore, you _must_ be versed in basic flight controls and astrogation.”

“Understood,” Murlesson said with no real reluctance. If every knowledge was useful, if she thought it so helpful to have the standardized Imperial education, he’d put up with it. He’d learn as much as was asked of him and more. Besides, he recalled how Aristheron had taken on the job of flying the shuttle in his last battle. _He_ knew many useful non-Force-related things.“Where will I meet this tutor?”

“Your tutor is a droid I have sent to your personal quarters. It is not to leave your room in case of sabotage. You may also have access to my library for furthering your reading of Sith holocrons. Many of them you may have already read, but I do have a few rare ones that may pique your interest.”

“Thank you,” Murlesson said. “Shall I begin immediately?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea. I’m still putting the finishing touches onto my plan for removing Skotia. Check back tomorrow morning.”

He was about to leave when she called him once more. “Oh, apprentice?”

“Yes, master?”

“You are friends with that Aristheron Laskaris boy, aren’t you?”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Murlesson said, wondering what she was up to.

“If you wish to associate with him during your time here on Dromund Kaas, I am not against it. Strong allies can be very helpful. Towards that end, if you wish to take a break from studying and visit him this evening, you should.”

Murlesson squinted at her, but she simply smiled and turned away.

“Your master sounds more like your mother,” Aristheron said, when Murlesson met with him later. He’d told him about the droid, and the “high-school education”, as the droid called it, and the fact that it had been Zash’s idea for him to seek out Aristheron in the first place. “An odd demeanour for a Sith.”

Murlesson blinked. “Is that what mothers do?” And he certainly agreed on the second point.

Aristheron winced slightly. “Yes, it is what some of them do. Mothers generally look out for their offspring, and attempt to give them the best start in life possible. Is this your first time on Dromund Kaas?”

“How ever did you guess. It’s not yours, though, is it?” They were seated near a window in a common area high in the Sanctum, looking out over the city. Murlesson had never left Netokos’s estate before his ‘escape’, had not even seen the city on Commenor, and his life before that… had been mostly in a slave camp with a hundred other children, penned in, featureless and full of pain and fear. All this was new to him – the never-ending crags and valleys of skyscrapers, the pinpoints of bright light, the swarming streams of speeders. He couldn’t hear it right now, but he’d been assaulted by the noise of the city when he’d arrived, the constant sounds of engines and voices, the activity, the business, the urgency. The Force permeated all of it, uneasy, but lively. Korriban, despite its bickering population of acolytes, had been almost silent but for the wind, certainly out in the wilderness or in the depths of the tombs. Netokos’s estate had been somewhat isolated, and he hadn’t been sent outdoors much; it had been quiet there, too. It all made him feel very small and insignificant. Even if he were to gain power, even if he stood at the very top of the Sith Sanctum and declare his ownership of the entire planet, he would still feel small.

And Korriban had been dry: this place was drenched in never-ending thunderstorms. Murlesson had never seen so much precipitation in his life. It was astonishing to him that anyone had even built a city here.

Aristheron hardly seemed to notice any of the lights or noise. “I’ve been here a few times in my life so far. But Talcene is not too different, except for the rain. I hear it never stops here, but on Talcene, the weather is actually quite pleasant.”

“Is that why you’re ten times more civil than nearly every other Sith I’ve ever met?” Murlesson demanded. Zash was more than civil, but he certainly didn’t trust her. She _seemed_ too open to be honest. Aristheron was either an even better actor, or too high-minded for scheming.

Aristheron snorted. “It could be. Though most Sith weren’t necessarily raised and groomed to be Lords. Many of them, even the ones who became Lords, are lacking a certain… finesse in manners. And philosophy. And self-control.”

“Hm.” Murlesson’s gaze zoned out, no longer fixed on the view. He had begun to formulate his own philosophy in the Force – not _completely_ modelled after Naga Sadow’s example, he had a mind of his own. Manners, however, he had not considered to be of use in and of themselves. Useful for manipulating people into doing what he wanted them to, perhaps. Aristheron seemed to value them for their own sake, however; perhaps it was a noble thing. Sign of ‘good breeding’. Or perhaps there was something more there.

Self-control was certainly useful. Some Sith bragged about their freedom, how they could do whatever they wanted – as long as it didn’t offend a more powerful Sith – but freedom was illusory. He would never have been able to even attempt escaping from Netokos if he had been impulsive. And what he wanted right now, to run somewhere far away from all these Sith, to run and hide until the nightmares stopped, was sure to only get him killed. He had to follow his ambition, his will to survive, and that meant _not_ doing whatever he wanted if it didn’t further his goals.

“Hey, master,” Vany said, appearing in the doorway. “How are you? I – uh, I did that thing that you asked.” She glanced at Murlesson, apparently unwilling to talk about her errand in front of him.

“Thank you, Vany. I am well.”

“You took her collar off,” Murlesson said, genuinely surprised.

Aristheron frowned at him. “I have freed her. I have no interest in owning a slave. Slavery is demeaning, abhorrent, and inefficient.”

“You don’t say,” Murlesson said, dry as Korriban.

Vany giggled. “You’re funny. Anyway, since I can’t exactly go back to the Republic, or even Ryloth, he’s employing me for the foreseeable future. I’m very lucky.”

“I’m think I’m jealous,” Murlesson muttered.

“You’re Sith,” Aristheron told him. “You have nothing to be jealous of now. Cease harping on about it.”

Except for the part where Vany’s life expectancy was far greater than his, no, he supposed Aristheron had half a point.

Aristheron looked up as if remembering something. “By the way, tomorrow my master’s asked me to investigate certain missing soldiers in the jungle not far from the city. Would you like to come with me? Assuming your master has no special tasks for you. You were certainly helpful last time, and perhaps you will get a chance to practice your lightsaber form in proper combat.”

“I-I would like that,” Murlesson said, his voice both stammering and cracking. What was that about life expectancy? Dropping by the moment?

It wasn’t so bad, it turned out. Slinking through the jungle was probably incredibly dangerous, what with the unfamiliar plants and animals – actually, most plants and animals were unfamiliar to him, but though he’d grilled his tutor droid on the local wildlife earlier in the day, in between math and physics, recognizing it under these circumstances was a little different. The rain poured down, and he was soaked to the skin through his robes, and it was dark, not that he could see more than few feet through the lush green undergrowth anyway. His footing was treacherous, over slippery rocks and fallen logs, or thick sticky mud. The scent of wet earth and raw plants was thick in the humid air, and that was probably the part he liked the least.

And yet he was ready for this. Of all the dangerous things that lurked in that jungle, yosusks, gundarks… he was one of the most dangerous. And he was not alone. Aristheron, of course, took a more open route, uninterested in stealth until a reason presented itself. Vany nervously stuck close by his side. But Murlesson was Aristheron’s secret weapon, just in case things didn’t go according to plan, and Khem Val was with him, revelling in the jungle more than Murlesson was.

He was surprised by how dense the jungle was just outside the city. They were probably no more than a twenty-minute walk from the outer wall. But as a result, he was no longer surprised by the idea that some soldiers would go missing so close to civilization.

As Aristheron had explained on their way to the city gates, his master had ordered one of his artifacts moved to a private laboratory outside of the city. But it never arrived. The preliminary investigation, by ordinary soldiers, had revealed very little. There were signs of a recent armed struggle, but no bodies had been left behind, and no obvious trail through the jungle. Too many clues had already been absorbed, by the rain, or the plants. Even the most advanced scanning technology was useless.

But technology was a pale ghost of power compared to the Force. Both Murlesson and Aristheron could feel it when they had reached the spot of the ambush – surely it had been an ambush, from the lingering emotions – and there was still a faint whisper in the Force that led away from the site.

“Do you sense it too?” Aristheron asked Murlesson, who had come out of cover and was standing with his eyes closed and hands outstretched to try to sense it better. It was extremely faint, even so, more of a suggestion than an actual trail. Like trying to smell something when scent wasn’t your primary or even secondary sense.

“Yes,” Murlesson said. “I think it’s the artifact. It seems to… absorb emotions. It leaves a dark trail.”

“My thoughts exactly. No wonder my master values it, and no wonder others do as well. Shall we?”

Murlesson nodded and dropped into a crouching lope, a stance he’d found to work well in this slippery terrain, even with the Force guarding his footsteps. He slipped into the jungle parallel to the path, following that elusive feeling through the trees. Aristheron stayed on the path.

It led them several hours later to a bunker, the main durasteel door of which was recessed into the ground down a ramp. It was very dark, and it looked old and abandoned, except for the two guards at the bottom of the ramp. Aristheron and Vany regrouped with Murlesson and Khem just out of sight. Vany was munching on a snack bar, and seeing it reminded Murlesson he was hungry, too. He hadn’t thought about it since they left the city, and all that rapid walking had been tiring. He didn’t complain. He’d survive until they returned to Kaas City.

“Almost missed you in the jungle,” Aristheron said. “You’re difficult to sense when I can’t see you.”

“That’s definitely not on purpose,” Murlesson said, grimly sarcastic, but pleased. “That’s an ominous-looking door.”

“Security looks tight, as well it should, but not strong,” Aristheron said.

“Should have invited that Volkova girl,” Murlesson said, off-handedly. Of course, she was still training on Korriban, but from what he’d seen, she’d love to barge head-first into an enemy base. He assumed it was an enemy base. He supposed he didn’t have to think too hard about this one. It was Aristheron’s mission, not his, and while that didn’t spare him from all ramifications, he’d follow the other’s lead.

Aristheron shook his head. “I know of her. She’s a typical Sith, favouring bloodshed over finesse. I would rather not have her here.”

“Why does that matter?” Murlesson pried.

Aristheron blinked regally at him. “The same reason why we did not kill the Black Talon’s crew. These men might very well be loyal servants of the Empire. Would be a shame to waste them over essentially nothing, a petty squabble between Lords.”

“I see,” Murlesson said, wondering why Aristheron’s sense in the Force shifted when he said that, brightening and darkening at the same time. “I’ll follow your lead, then.”

“Actually, I was hoping you would duplicate your trick to remove the guards from the door,” Aristheron said. “We may have to fight inside, but no sense in tipping them off early.”

Murlesson nodded, and reached out. Now he knew what he was doing, could sense the minds before him clearly and how to grasp them. “They’re mine. We can move.”

He didn’t miss the alarmed look Vany gave him at how casually he had usurped their awareness this time, but it didn’t matter. Better that than dead, wasn’t Aristheron saying?

They walked into the base, the doors closed behind them. Aristheron walked ahead confidently, apparently just going to continue until he met resistance. They turned a corner into a large command room, and a pair of lightsabers blazed before them in the half-light. “Intruder!” called a harsh voice, and Murlesson saw that there was a dual-wielding, pale-skinned humanoid Sith there; he was unsure of the species but the feral way the man was snarling left no doubt that he was eager to fight. He heard the sound of running boots, and ten or so soldiers dashed into the room, guns already raised. It was not good odds… but they hadn’t had good odds on the Brentaal Star, either, and that had worked out. Time to turn victory from bad odds to certainty.

“We need not fight,” Aristheron said. “Give me what you have stolen and I will leave.”

“Who do you think you are, boy? You and your little girl face _me_ , Kusaq, apprentice to Lord Madshe!” Apparently his Force cloak had worked on the frothing alien. Murlesson gave a wicked grin of his own. He would enjoy taking down this arrogant snot.

“Lord Madshe, I should have known,” Aristheron sighed. “I am Aristheron Laskaris, apprentice to Darth Emment. Give me the artifact, or I will rip it from your dead hands.”

“Emment’s certainly picked a snivelling coward for his new apprentice! I’ll rip your heart from your chest instead, boy!”

Not waiting, the alien lunged forwards viciously; Aristheron barely countered in time. Vany screamed and backed away, pistol out. “How very like a Rattataki,” Aristheron muttered, giving Murlesson a name for their opponent’s species.

Murlesson thought rapidly, constructing and discarding strategies to get them out of this. Aristheron didn’t want the regular soldiers killed, was that it? They weren’t going to have a choice regarding this Sith, but the others… “Khem, go keep the Sith busy.”

< _With pleasure_ ,> Khem said, and snarled as he sprang at the Sith.

“There’s more of them! Kill them all!” Kusaq yelled, but Murlesson was pulling at a catwalk overhead, dragging it down through sheer force of will, slamming it down between the dueling Sith and the soldiers. It teetered ponderously, and he let it fall backwards onto the soldiers. It wouldn’t kill them unless they were very unlucky, but it would incapacitate them for quite long enough to finish the Sith.

“You useless cretins!” Kusaq jumped back from Khem, and as the first couple soldiers began to squirm out from under the catwalk, he beheaded them. Murlesson felt Aristheron’s anger surge, and his friend charged forwards, beating Kusaq back away from the other soldiers. “I’ll kill you all myself!” Kusaq screamed, his face contorted in a horrible snarl.

“You’re not worthy of being Sith!” Aristheron cried, slashing through Kusaq’s counterattacks. “You treasonous wretch!”

Murlesson felt something churn in his stomach. No Sith had a moral high ground over any other, not even himself. But he was going to be very satisfied when this particular monster stopped breathing.

Kusaq hissed like a malevolent insect, backing up and into the next room. “Fine. That’s how you want it?” He flung something small at them with the Force, and behind them, Vany cried out in pain. Murlesson ran after him, but Aristheron turned back to check on his underling. So much for coordination, Murlesson thought sourly as he suddenly found himself alone in front of the Rattataki. There was a shallow pit through the next room, a deeper corridor crossed by a narrow bridge, and Kusaq was backing across it, grinning maniacally. Probably thought he’d herded his enemies into a choke point.

There wasn’t much choice but to press the attack – holding back meant giving Kusaq more time to prepare. So he slashed forwards, double-blade whirling, humming like a hive. He’d never fought a dual-wielder before, and every ounce of energy was concentrating, anticipating, barely remembering his lessons of a few days before and what practice he’d managed to shove in since then.

“You’re slow, boy,” Kusaq said, still grinning, and Murlesson glared as one of his enemy’s blades nicked his robe.

He flicked his saber end-over-end, still unable to pierce Kusaq’s defences. “How come I’m not dead yet, then, bantha-paws?” Kusaq snarled, baring pointy teeth, and Murlesson barely blocked his next strike.

Something sailed by overhead, and Aristheron landed cleanly on the other side of the bridge, already swinging at Kusaq, who laughed, and jumped off, down the five meters into the corridor below. Aristheron and Murlesson glanced at each other and followed, Murlesson sending a bolt of lightning before him. Kusaq blocked it with his lightsaber.

The Rattataki landed on his feet, blades high in defence; Murlesson landed and rolled to one side, sending more lightning zapping out at him. Aristheron attacked from the other side, and Kusaq blocked them both, giggling.

Then his expression changed, and he looked up, swinging his off-saber just in time to block a blaster bolt from above. Vany stood on the bridge, holding her hip where she’d been struck, Khem beside her. Murlesson threw more energy, more violence into his next lightning, and Kusaq was hurled against the wall, wreathed in it. Another shot from Vany and he fell to the floor, smoking.

“Well done, Vany,” Aristheron said, sheathing his saber. “Your wound does not hurt too much?”

“It hurts a bit, but I’ll live,” Vany said, smiling painfully.

Aristheron nodded to Murlesson. “The artifact is close.”

“I feel it too,” Murlesson said, jumping back up to the upper level, letting Aristheron take the lead to a locked inner door, where the sense of the artifact was emanating from. Aristheron was about to draw his lightsaber to destroy the lock when Vany handed him a keycard, so he swiped the door, entered – and stopped short.

Murlesson hurried after him. “Vany, Khem Val, guard the door,” Aristheron ordered, and the door closed behind Murlesson as Aristheron knelt in front of a terrified Rodian slave child. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The child shivered, too frightened to speak, it seemed. The sense they had felt was his Force-sense, a silently-screaming ball of agony, spreading into the depression that filled the base.

“Is that…” Murlesson said, revulsion boiling up in his stomach, hatred bubbling into his hearts. He’d been mistreated as a slave, but he’d never experienced anything like this.

“That appears to be the artifact,” Aristheron said, his voice low and hard. “This was unnecessary.” The child’s rough tunic had slipped down one shoulder, revealing something metallic embedded – _implanted_ in his chest. Aristheron reached out with one hand, but it was an invitation, not a command. “Come, little one. We want to help you.” Now his voice was gentle, sincerely gentle, and with it his Force sense…

“Aristheron,” Murlesson said suddenly, “are you… Light-sided?” He had only sensed Aristheron’s power before, strong but neutral, but now, in this moment, unguarded… his friend was gleaming, almost glittering to his mind’s eye, his sixth sense.

Aristheron didn’t move, but his posture suddenly seemed wary. “Am I going to have to kill you for finding out?”

Murlesson ignored the spike of terror in his own body and turned away, pretending to be unconcerned. “Unlike everyone else in this Empire, I really don’t care which side of the Force you use. I only care about one thing: are you going to hurt me?”

“I won’t hurt you unless you betray me,” Aristheron said evenly.

“That was rhetorical,” Murlesson grunted, but managed to relax a bit. “I won’t say a word.”

“I’m sorry, little one. It was nothing to do with you. Come, now. We must get you to a medical facility.”

That panicked the little Rodian into screaming, cowering away from Aristheron. Murlesson flicked out two fingers in the child’s direction. “Calm. We want to heal you. To make it stop hurting.” Though his voice was impatient, his suggestion wasn’t. He just wanted the silent noise to stop. Probably a medical facility was where the kid had had the implant forced on him. But it wasn’t like they’d be able to just yank it out without going back to one.

The Force-suggestion worked far more easily than it should have, and the child sagged forwards into Aristheron’s arms, the pain bleeding into the Force dropping by half. Still murmuring soothing words, the tall man carried the semi-comatose child out. “Call a speeder, Murlesson. We must make haste.”

In the common area they’d been in the day before, Murlesson crouched in a corner, his hood over his head, trying to process everything. His robes were nearly dry, though still dirty, but he’d left a muddy trail behind him. If he was to become a ghost in the halls the way he had been on Korriban and Commenor, he would need some way to work around that. Janitorial droids and slaves were no substitute for not leaving a trail in the first place. But those thoughts were pushed aside by other concerns. What was this artifact? Who had made it, for what purpose? Who did it belong to now, and what were _they_ using it for? Would any of it impact his survival in the near future?

He was interrupted by familiar Force-senses approaching. “Hey,” Vany said, leaning over him. “I know you’re brooding all broodsomely, but we brought you some hot chocolate.”

He wanted to ask what that was, but he didn’t really care, absently accepting the cup Vany gave him. She had one of her own, too. He sniffed it and was instantly overwhelmed by the richness of the flavour. How much better would it taste to drink? But it was hot, like she’d said, and he decided to wait.

Vany sipped hers carefully. “Have you had it before?” He shook his head. “Hope you like it, then!”

He took a tiny sip, too, and his eyes widened. Vany grinned at his reaction.

Aristheron did not have a cup, standing in the centre of the window, gazing at the city with his hands clasped behind his back. His Force-sense was as it had been, neutral as far as Murlesson could tell at the moment, no sign of that glimmering Light peeking through. “The child’s in medical. The prognosis… is not good. It seems that artifact is a conduit for Force energy, but the direction depends upon the strength of the user. In the hands of a strong user, he can take its stored-up energy. In the hands of a weak one… it saps their energy to store. And to implant it in a _child_ … Why implanting? Just giving it to him would have been just as lethal, there was no need for physical trauma as well.”

“You know what they would say,” Murlesson growled. “A slave-child is nothing. Particularly a scrawny one like that.” Perhaps there was something about Force energy taken with violence that made the artifact work better. He’d believe it of something made by the Sith. He wondered if his nightmares were going to get worse after this. “Anyway, what’s the difference if it’s a child or not?”

“Senseless cruelty,” Aristheron said, and for all his smooth noble voice remained calm, Murlesson could sense anger simmering under his skin. “A life wasted, and for what? Even a slave’s life is worth something. And the young have more to live for.”

“Where were you when I was a slave?” Murlesson said bitterly. Vany made to put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he shifted away quickly, spilling hot chocolate on his hand. He made no reaction to the burn, only wiping the liquid away with his dirty robe. She didn’t try again.

Aristheron glanced sharply at him. “I am no saviour, Murlesson. I refuse to hold slaves personally, but I will not go out of my way to ‘rescue’ them or acquire them for release. I cannot personally halt all the cruelties of the galaxy.”

Murlesson looked away sourly. It was perfectly true – and yet to be told so in such a blunt manner made his blood pressure rise.

“But I will pass judgement on those whom I can,” Aristheron went on more gently. “That surgery was not fresh. I have strong suspicions.”

Suspicions of whom? His own master? “If you want… assistance…” Murlesson offered. Maybe it would be a distraction from dealing with Zash and her schemes, but if Aristheron found himself in over his head, it wouldn’t be very helpful either. He needed all the allies he could get.

Aristheron inclined his head, tacitly accepting. “Drink your chocolate before it gets cold.”

Murlesson suddenly remembered the warm cup in his hand and bent his head to it. It shouldn’t be possible that a warm drink should make him feel so much better, but it did. Maybe his nightmares wouldn’t be worse.

If only it was that simple. Run away to some distant, forgotten planet and drink chocolate for the rest of his life. Ha.

Over the next few weeks, he blasted through the studies the tutor droid gave him, even the stuff he found annoying like chemistry, and the stuff he found painfully out of his depth, like astrogation. He downloaded the texts into a datapad and kept them with him always, reviewing them constantly. His memory was excellent, but he still needed to catch up to everyone else who’d just _known_ this stuff for years. The ‘homework’ was the devil itself – why did he have to show his work to show he understood? It wasted time from going on to the next new thing. He didn’t know how much time this stable, ‘quiet’ period would afford him, but he wanted to finish these courses before anything crazy happened. He was already almost finished most of them, even the ones he’d had to start from scratch in – chemistry and astrogation aside. His tutor expressed artificial surprise at his progress, but really, most of it was pretty straightforward, especially if most people his age were supposed to know this already.

He was practicing other skills, too. He’d been learning to shoot guns with a Mandalorian named Jeik – every skill was useful – and though he’d never be great at it, he could probably hit an unsuspecting target moving in a predictable path, which was better than nothing. Aristheron showed him how to drive a speeder and ride a speeder bike, even though technically he was under-age by Imperial law. Aristheron didn’t need to know that. He asked Jeik to show him how engines worked, but though he understood the theory, he nearly broke Jeik’s speeder and decided that was not going to be something to invest in just yet. Vany showed him how to pick-pocket even without the Force and how to make hot chocolate and other simple cooking.

Zash also took a personal interest in his education, often asking him to her office for long talks about the ancient Sith Lords, their lives and deeds, their philosophies. He tried not to give away too much about himself through his opinions, but it was so alluring to actually have someone who was genuinely interested in the same things he was. Other times she helped him practice his lightsaber forms, or to hone his Force techniques, offering advice to enhance his rapidly-improving talents. And while sometimes she showed her anger to her servants, she was oddly patient with him, and he responded in spite of himself. He still figured she was up to something that wouldn’t necessarily end well for him, but her entire focus at the moment was on ending Skotia, and he could get behind that.

And on his own, he would sneak into the jungle to lurk, to climb trees, to hunt out gundarks and fight them to the death. He didn’t even take Khem. He didn’t want a safety net. Only his own skills, speed, tenacity, against these hulking vicious beasts. Having someone save him would only encourage him to be sloppy. He often didn’t even draw his lightsaber; it was loud and bright and only attracted attention. Even blaster fire or lightning was a bit much. No, far better in this situation was to lurk in a tree and use telekinesis to crush throats, snap necks, and hurl stones. Very satisfying was the one time he managed to pull another tree down on his target, but it was rather inaccurate, only useful against large targets. He opted not to use it the time a gang of Sith apprentices followed him out of the city, intent on getting even for the insult war _they’d_ started… that he’d finished. Instead, he picked them off one by one in the darkness and the rain. He let the panicking leader, the last survivor, get within sight of the city before knocking her down with a rock, and came to loom curiously over her, listening to her beg insincerely, before dispatching her with a blaster shot.

And even if he didn’t exactly _enjoy_ the intense danger, he was starting to thrill to the feeling of _choosing_ to take his life into his own hands, of purposefully challenging creatures that could easily murder him, of setting up battlegrounds and executing strategies. Even when they went wrong the first time – they never went wrong a second time – the feeling of adrenaline zinging through his body, tense as a wire, reflexes firing on a hair-trigger, it made his old life look like actual death in comparison. He wasn’t free, but at least he was alive.

He even had the opportunity to make changes to himself. Zabrak his age were supposed to have facial tattoos signifying a coming-of-age. He’d never had the opportunity as a slave, but not having them now would make him stand out. So he found a place that would do them for him. It wasn’t a traditional place; run by a rather shady Twi’lek Mandalorian, but Jeik recommended him there. He found a design he liked in a book about Zabrak culture, got his face covered in black markings that made him look like a skull.

It was uncomfortable, and he was told to take care of it tediously for at least three weeks afterwards. He hoped it was worth it.

Of course, with everything happening all at once, he barely rested. Aristheron accidentally introduced him to caf and he practically lived off the stuff, but it did nothing for the bags perpetually under his eyes now. At least with his skin colouration, and his new tattoos, no one could see dark circles like they could on fair-skinned humans or Chiss. It made him even more grouchy and sullen than before, but no one really noticed – he made an effort to be civil for Aristheron, Vany, Jeik, and Zash, and anyone else stronger than him had no interest in talking to him, and no one weaker than him mattered. In all, being a Sith was far more difficult and dangerous than being a slave. But no one was beating or electrocuting him anymore, and it was also far more interesting.

But even if he didn’t directly suffer physical punishment, even if he was finally mentally stimulated to a degree that agreed with him, even if he had the appearance of autonomy, he was now as trapped in this life as he had been in the life before. He dared to push the boundaries more than ever, gently, cautiously, and found walls far more invisible but just as unyielding. “Don’t do that, Lord So-and-so won’t like it,” was a common refrain around the Sith Sanctum, and he had to watch his step around other apprentices. If he wasn’t careful, he might get stabbed in an alley from some glory-seeker looking to test themselves on perceived weaklings. Namedropping Zash only helped a little. If he stayed out too late, whether in Kaas City or the jungle, Zash would inevitably appear in her speeder, slightly concerned for his safety, and slightly cross that she’d had to come fetch him. How she kept finding him, he wasn’t sure, probably a combination of security cameras and the irritating Force-bond that tied master to apprentice. He was reasonably sure he hadn’t been implanted with a tracking device, or else he would have freaked out for certain. It was very irritating anyway. And visiting the spaceport was right out. He’d heard stories – if he was found lurking around there without a proper reason to be, security would return him firmly to his master. It seemed he was not the first who wished to leave without permission. Even if he managed to leave, how long would it be before someone found him and killed him?

He wouldn’t be getting out, it seemed, without a really strong plan. Right now, he would watch and learn, rather than try to escape as a half-baked Sith.

“Apprentice,” Zash said to him one day, “I have a mission for you. Skotia’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

“Consider it known,” Murlesson said. “Where do I start looking?”

She beckoned him to her console to show a capture from a security camera. “There’s something hidden away near the base of the newest monolith. This is one of Skotia’s military minions, Lieutenant Shrevald or something like that. This security camera was newly installed yesterday, and he probably didn’t know about it. Watch.”

The lieutenant glanced from side to side as he approached a seemingly-ordinary stone wall. He leaned in close to the rock and seemed to say something – and part of the rock slid aside, revealing a standard Imperial door.

“Now how about that?” Zash said, gleeful. “Doesn’t that just scream of intrigue?”

“I guess,” Murlesson said. “I’ll be back by dinner. Probably. Unless I’m dead.”

“Shoo, then. Try not to do that last part.”

Breaking into the facility was not really hard. Now he knew where the camera was, he could stage an accident, have it short out for the duration of his investigation, and lurk until someone entered or exited the door. He had to wait a few hours, but patience got results, and he could finish his chemistry homework while he waited.

Eventually, he got lucky, and someone exited the door. He snuck in, cloaked in the Force, before it closed. Now to find what was in here. He entered the first room and stopped short.

Jackpot, as Jeik would say.

It was a storage facility for everything Darth Skotia wanted to keep secret and safe. His wide eyes wandered over crates full of mystery, armour stands covered in ornate or heavy armour, racks of strange weapons, shelves covered in strange relics – the part that interested him most.

First things first – he had to make sure no one saw him sneaking about like a rat. Would the security system be local, or remote? Maybe none of the few guards would see him, if he made himself unimportant enough, but cameras would, and Skotia would know who he was on sight. He did the slave shuffle across the room and to the next, and the next, forcing static into the cameras he could see. No security station. Damn. He’d have to be quick, then; too much static would be suspicious. What was that?

The Force drew him to a large golden amulet that lay on one of the shelves, the bulk of it shaped like a Trandoshan’s head. Weren’t Skotia’s bodyguards Trandoshan? Did this have something to do with them, or had Skotia just squirreled it away because it was shiny? He didn’t seem the type. He picked it up, slipping it into a pocket, looking around for something he could substitute so its disappearance would not be noticed immediately. Half-hidden nearby, a shiny mechanical sphere. He moved it over and beat a hasty retreat to find out what it was he had pilfered.

It took a lot of digging through the non-human section of the Sith Sanctum’s public library, but he found it – a sub-sect of a Trandoshan cult venerated this particular amulet, or one that looked just like it, as a gift from their god. It had been stolen from a temple twenty years ago and its whereabouts still unknown… to everyone but Skotia and him, apparently. And now just him.

How did this help in any way? He asked the Force, which gave him no answer.

“Brilliant, apprentice!” Zash exclaimed when he told her all he had found, and showed her the amulet. “I had thought he simply hired them, there are enough Trandoshan mercenaries in the galaxy. But I should have known he would take more precautions than that. This will make your task much easier. Do you know why?”

“No.” He frowned in confusion. It must have been related to why Skotia kept the amulet in the first place. Perhaps he was holding it hostage to ensure their cooperation? They wouldn’t be able to fight a Sith Lord for it.

“We had been planning that you murder Skotia’s bodyguards before dealing with him, yes? But with this, you will be able to control them, instead.”

He blinked, skeptical. “Why would they do that? It’s just a piece of metal. I’m not a Trandoshan.”

Zash wagged a finger at him, smiling mischievously. “ _Never_ underestimate the power of blind religious fervour, my apprentice! This was given to them by their _god_. If you have the power to hold it, you have to power to command them. Order them to run away, order them to kill Skotia, it _will_ work.”

“Hm.” He ran his thumb over the face of the amulet. “Worth a shot, I suppose. It’s not like I’ll be less dead if it fails.”

He crept along a branch of a large, spreading tree overlooking the road, waiting for the convoy to arrive. It was showtime for his first big mission. He’d left Aristheron behind, he couldn’t be linked to this. Zash was at a party, being visible for anyone who might wish to see. Khem Val was his only companion out here in the jungle.

Skotia was traveling between Kaas City and his private estate, and it was near enough to the city he was traveling by landspeeder. Zash told him it was set up inside as an office, and moved at walking speed to allow his bodyguards to maintain pace with it on foot. Murlesson did not have a landspeeder; he’d had to set up hours ahead of time.

The first challenge was going to be the Trandoshan bodyguards. They were resistant to the Force, and they were reputed to be keen hunters, able to smell targets no matter how difficult it was to see them. They were also able to scent explosives, able to scent danger in general. On the other hand, he’d also heard they were rather stupid. The artifact he’d found would seem to reinforce that assessment.

There they were, the Trandoshans walking two before and two behind the armour speeder. He waited until they were nearly below him, then lightly dropped the twenty-meter fall to the ground, braced his feet, and pulled with each hand. His pre-prepared logs ponderously collapsed on the road behind him, blocking the speeder from proceeding. The Trandoshans raised their guns.

“Hold,” he ordered them. “Have a look at this.” With one hand, he pulled the amulet from his robes and held it high; lightning flashed in the sky, reflecting off the golden surface. His hearts were beating wildly. What if they didn’t obey the person with the amulet? That was stupid, right, to just blindly obey the ‘holder of the magic rock’? Wouldn’t they just kill him for laying his unbelieving hands on it?

But their slitted eyes went wide, staring at the amulet as if entranced. < _It has the amulet,_ > one of them rasped. < _Brothers, we must obey it._ >

A powerful feeling welled up from his stomach, making him giddy. “Glad you know your place in the universe.”

The door on the side of the speeder slid open, and the hulking cyborg form of Darth Skotia squeezed through it. “What makes this slave so bold as to block my way? Tell me, slave, are you insane, or do you have a death wish?”

Murlesson bared his teeth in a half-crazed laugh. “If you think this is bad, you should meet my other personality.” Fear was coursing through him. Skotia was big, very big up close, and his Force-sense was a cloud of malice before him, rooting him to the ground.

“Heh. Skeesk, kill him.”

The Trandoshans did not move. < _It has the amulet,_ > repeated the first one.

Did he order them to run, or go all out and order them to kill? “Skotia has never had the authority to command you. Strike him down for the Scoremaster!”

< _As you wish, master._ > He watched in a sort of awe as the four Trandoshans moved swiftly to take aim at their former master. They would obey even the most suicidal of commands?

Skotia drew his lightsaber, blocking the flurry of shots without any seeming difficulty, then lunged at the Trandoshans. It was only a few moments before all of them lay dead, their hunter reflexes worthless against a Sith.

Skotia turned to him, slowly, deliberately. “ You must think you’re very clever, you and your master. You shouldn’t have done that. The bodyguards – they’re nothing. Show. But you subverted my authority, took my slaves from me. And that… makes me angry. Killing you… will be over too soon.” The half-metal face split in a fierce grin. “No… I think you’re going to have to suffer, first.”

He had no witty come-back for that. _Move, idiot!_ Fear boiled into hatred, and his nervous grin morphed into a snarl. He dropped into a combat crouch, lightsaber held loosely in his left hand, his soaked robes clinging to his skinny legs, dropping the now-useless amulet in the mud. Skotia deliberately stalked towards him, lightsaber in hand, cybernetic limbs humming with power. His tread seemed to shake the ground.

And turned to block the strike from Khem Val’s cortosis-edged blade. Murlesson’s eyes gleamed. For the first part of this fight… he didn’t actually intend to fight.

Khem was vicious, and hungry, but still recovering from his thousands of years in stasis, still weak and slow. Skotia was pressing him back easily, the lightsaber scraping sparks from the sword, and Murlesson could feel his servant’s frustration and rage reaching a boiling point. He darted forward, and Skotia backhanded him without even looking, knocking him back head over heels. He scrambled back to his feet, rushing forward again, different angle this time, zig-zagging, skidding across the muddy road. He didn’t have to strike, just get close enough to…

…slap his secret weapon onto Skotia’s arm and duck away, flinging himself bodily to the ground to avoid a lightsaber swipe. Before Skotia could rip it off, he found the power button for the device on his belt and hit it.

Skotia cried out in rage and pain as the specially-designed cyborg-neuro-disruptor EMP ripped through his limbs, taking out both arms and one leg, and probably a good deal of his internal organs as well. He tried to move, teetered, staggered with his good leg, and fell backwards, bouncing off his speeder with a thunk. “What is this? How… did you…”

But it wouldn’t last long, his internal circuitry already rebooting even against such a powerful and personalized attack. Murlesson rolled to his feet, flinging lightning with his right hand, lightsaber blazing in his left, determined to milk every second of advantage he had. If he hadn’t had that device – a device he’d killed a man for – he would have been dead already.

Skotia twitched his head towards him and Murlesson was tossed into the air, his throat constricting; he flexed the darkness within him, and the grip loosened, dropping him back to the ground. His enemy was no push-over even losing control of three limbs, it seemed. Khem slashed at Skotia, carving a deep wound into his chest and shoulder; the backswing sprinkled blood on Murlesson’s face. Murlesson jumped to one side as he saw Skotia’s head move again, but this time it was Khem who was pushed back, and pushed back much farther, toppling into the ditch at the edge of the road.

Skotia was struggling to get up again, his robotic limbs moving jerkily, his right hand still mechanically clutching his lightsaber. Murlesson had to close with him _now_. He jumped, unnaturally high, blasting Force energy before him as a shield, and landed with a splatter of mud toe-to-toe with Skotia. He felt an invisible grip closing around his body, saw Skotia trying to raise his lightsaber with his disabled and injured arm, and blasted darkness outwards, throwing off the grip, slashing downwards.

Skotia’s arm fell to the mud, the lightsaber deactivated. Skotia gritted his teeth, snarling in hatred up at Murlesson, hatred he was pleased to reciprocate. “Zash! Zash! You’ve killed me…”

Murlesson hissed back, raising his lightsaber. “Don’t blame Zash. This is all me.” He struck, all his hatred flooding through his saber, plunging it up to the hilt in Skotia’s chest, melting through the armoured speeder’s side plating behind.

Skotia’s face contorted and he coughed. “Mindless… you don’t know what Zash can do. She will kill you. Just like… she’s killed… me.” He sagged to one side as Murlesson pulled back his lightsaber, and with an explosive rush in the Force, his sense evaporated into the twilight.

Murlesson looked down at the body, breathing hard with venomous energy. “When that day comes… I’ll be ready for her.”

He turned away, back to the city, sheathing his lightsaber, then stopped. His body was beginning to shake. The darkness in his mind, in his belly was churning with fierce emotions; the temporary release of tension hit him like a piledriver and he swayed as he shook, falling to his knees. He was covered in mud, in droplets of blood from Khem’s strike, could taste blood in his mouth from when he had been backhanded. He’d just… He’d killed, killed a Sith Lord far stronger than he had any right to. Either he was one step closer to freedom, or one step closer to death. Maybe both. The realization swirled around his head.

A giggle forced its way out of his chest, his voice cracking as he lost all control and it erupted into hysterical sobbing laughter, peal upon peal of wild cackling. The sound echoed sharply around the trees surrounding him, spreading eerily into the jungle. He was alive, and he had power. He’d tasted real power this day. And he wanted more.

Darkness and exhaustion took him first.


	5. Sins of the Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murlesson, a die-hard atheist, makes an attempt to understand religion in this chapter.
> 
> Ambiance for the tomb is [Corpse Party: Underground Maze](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yO6ZjB0BPPE).

Part 5: Sins of the Father

He woke up in his room. “How… what…”

< _The little Sith is a great fool,_ > Khem Val grumbled from the other side of the room. < _I had to carry you back to Kaas City before your plan failed._ >

“Ah,” Murlesson said, rubbing his head. He might have overdone it with the ‘drunk on power’ reaction. Not that he’d had a choice at the time. He’d have to keep a tighter hold on that. It wouldn’t happen again.

Because if he’d been found lying unconscious next to Darth Skotia’s impaled body, all Zash’s planning would have been wasted. Not that he cared what happened to her, but he’d be executed near-instantly.

He coughed and mumbled. “Thank you.” He felt scorn in Khem’s stance and didn’t repeat himself.

And now he would discover more of Zash’s plans for him. He was going to have to flesh out his contingency plan a _lot_ more. Surely she hadn’t taken him just to kill her rival and then be disposed of, but things were going to change now, he just knew it. And this time, he wasn’t going to have help. He’d have to kill her with only his own scheming. Maybe he could get her in trouble with her superior, Darth Thanaton – she complained about him often enough. Except he didn’t know what the fall-out would be for him. But getting someone else to do the actual fighting and killing sounded like a good idea. The power-rush wasn’t worth it.

He checked the time. It had been a few hours since his encounter with Skotia. A few hours for Khem to have carried him back, and a few hours’ nap for him to recover from his exertions. The darkness still simmered in him restlessly, but it was not overwhelming right now.

There was not much to do but wait for further orders… As if on cue, his commlink went off. “Hello?”

“Ah, apprentice,” Zash’s voice burst from it gaily. “Wonderful news. Come meet me in my office.”

“Right away.”

When he appeared before her, she tutted. “Really, you couldn’t have at least cleaned the blood off your face?” He raised a hand to his face, and felt dried stuff there. Whether mud or blood, he couldn’t tell. “Well, well. You can have a bath and a good long rest this evening. You’ve earned it and more. I just met with that insufferable Thanaton, and I don’t suppose you can guess how it went.” Her eyes danced.

“You killed him,” he guessed, unseriously.

She laughed. “You think very highly of me, apprentice. No, dear. He discovered Skotia’s death and called me in to scold me; however, the Dark Council was assembled, and they took a different view. You would’ve been proud of me – I went in to a reprimand, but I emerged a Darth.”

So Thanaton suspected her, but the Dark Council did not, and had elevated her to fill Skotia’s power vacuum. “Congratulations, master.”

She smiled brightly. “And now, we are finally free to act. Remember the map you found on Korriban that pointed us to the power of Tulak Hord?”

“I didn’t know that was what it was, but yes,” Murlesson said.

“The first piece of that artifact, that power, is here on Dromund Kaas. Therefore, we will be taking a field trip together tomorrow. I’m so excited! And I will finally be able to explain several things for you – how I came to choose you, for instance.”

“Why not explain them now?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, no more business for tonight. You’ve overworked yourself in the last little while, and now that we have a bit of a breather, it’s important for you to rest while you can. Go on, have a good meal, have a bath, watch a holodrama, read a book – and not a textbook or an ancient text, for once. It’s what I plan to do with my evening!”

He felt that she was lying about her own plans, but bowed. He wasn’t getting any more out of her tonight. “Yes, master.”

He woke early the next morning, feeling more refreshed than he’d felt since he’d discovered caf. Maybe a break once in a while _wasn’t_ a bad idea. But it wasn’t a luxury he could afford often, probably.

He met Zash in her office after having eaten, and she seemed just as cheerful as the day before – almost gratingly cheerful. But he supposed she had some reason, having just eliminated a rival and been made Darth Zash.

“I hope you’re not too terribly attached to these chambers,” she said after greeting him. “I’ll be moving into Skotia’s former rooms as soon as I’ve finished checking them for unpleasant surprises.” He nodded without answering. “One reason he was in our way, was he kept the key to the tomb we will be entering today. I found it in the inventory of that storage facility you so daringly retrieved that Trandoshan amulet from. It was a nice touch to leave it behind at the crime scene, by the way. Now Imperial Intelligence suspects a Trandoshan assassin.”

He frowned, perplexed. “But that makes no sense. A Trandoshan would have taken it with him.”

“Unless he was not in the same cult, in which case it would have been useless to our hypothetical friend. But apparently they think only a Trandoshan would know the significance of such an item. Anthropocentric fools they. Where was I?”

“The key,” he said patiently. “To a tomb.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve sent a servant for the key, and as soon as she returns, we’ll be off. We have some time now, though, I think, and so I will tell you why you are so special to me.”

He tilted his head in curiosity. “I’ve certainly wondered.”

“Before I went to Korriban to choose an apprentice, a furious apparition awoke in this tomb, implacable in its anger, murdering all who dared enter the Dark Temple. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, there are _always_ ancient ghosts awakening there and being a nuisance, except that I _know_ Tulak Hord’s artifact is in that particular tomb. But I had a dream. An apprentice of low origin humbled himself before the apparition, pacifying it. That’s why you and your peers were singled out.”

“You don’t think it could have been just a dream?” he asked, ever skeptical.

She wagged a finger at him. “Dreams are when the Force speaks to us most loudly. I believe what I have foreseen. That is why I need you with me to enter this tomb. You must face the apparition for me, and when you do, I believe that your humility will be the key.”

“If you say so,” he answered. Not like he had much of a choice.

“Still…” she cast her eyes down. “I want you to know I’m not certain you’re the one from my dream. I fear I may be sending you to your death…”

“Hardly,” he said. He had no idea how to fight a ghost, but he knew how to humiliate himself. The question was, would the ghost be satisfied with the insincere, fear-induced demeanour of a slave?

“You’re right,” she said briskly. “Tulak Hord’s power awaits us both. We must not lose sight of this goal.” There was a chime at the door, and it opened to reveal a woman in Imperial uniform. She entered, handed a small box to Zash with a bow, then left again.

Zash checked inside the box, then turned with a smile to Murlesson. “Come, apprentice. Adventure awaits.”

As he turned to follow her from the room, Khem Val fell in slightly behind him. < _Even the great Tulak Hord did not tangle with spirits. Tread lightly, little Sith._ >

“Aww, Khem, didn’t think you cared,” he said. Khem made a disapproving noise. Perhaps he oughtn’t to poke the Dashade when he was offering words designed to prolong Murlesson’s longevity.

Zash took her speeder and headed out several hours’ drive to the Dark Temple. Murlesson stared in fascination through the passenger’s side viewport as the gigantic black stone edifice emerged from the trees and cliffs about them. She had to park well back from the front; there was a barricade where the road turned from modern Imperial pavement to ancient worn flagstones. Pillars erected by the side of the old road, covered in sigils and runes, leaned crazily this way and that like rotted teeth.

Zash got out of the speeder, but Murlesson took a few more moments, so engrossed he was in looking up at the Temple exterior. It rose like one of the modern skyscrapers in Kaas City, but it was so dark, and heavy, like it was waiting to devour all who entered it. It was the most foreboding thing he’d seen in his life.

“Ah, it’s been so long!” Zash exclaimed cheerfully, climbing the ruined road, nodding to the soldiers stationed there, who saluted her.

Murlesson followed. “Whose tomb is this, by the way?”

Zash hesitated, pausing right in the shadow of the massive gaping door. “I am not sure. Even Skotia didn’t know. His or her name appears to have been wiped from Sith histories. It’s not uncommon, you know.”

“Right. Let’s get this over with.” He took a deep breath and walked into the dark opening.

Zash and Khem stayed behind him, probably quite happy to let him take the lead on encountering murderous ghosts. And after seeing the skeletons of unfortunate Imperials lying about in corners, left to rot where they fell, no one able to retrieve them, he would have been glad to hide behind someone too. But the further they walked into the Temple, the more suspicious he became. There was no sign of any apparition that he could see. Maybe she had brought him here to kill him? It seemed like a lot of effort, and Khem would have something to say about that.

Zash directed him to a corner at the back, to a door that felt small, insignificant, easy to overlook. But no Sith Lord buried here was insignificant, no matter how out-of-the way their tomb entrance was. “Early Empire Era,” she said, tapping her chin as she looked it over. Had she not actually visited the location before? He supposed that made sense. “Probably roughly the same age as Tulak Hord’s reign. Not too long after the construction of the Temple itself. A good sign.”

He perked up. He knew intellectually about the different eras of the Sith Empire, and of course there had been all those tombs to explore on Korriban, but to be able to recognize architecture at a glance… He needed to step up his studies.

She handed him the box with the key. “There you are. Go on, apprentice.”

He opened the box and discovered a palm-sized stone with a raised design in it. In the door there was a recess with the same design in it. Didn’t take a genius to figure out how that went together.

He paused, reaching out in the Force. He didn’t _sense_ any traps… but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Still, there was no reason to hesitate. He stepped up to the door and placed the glyph in it, feeling strangely like he was opening someone’s house, not their tomb, the deathly atmosphere notwithstanding.

The door opened surprisingly quietly, and Zash produced a lamp for him. He lifted it and took a step into the tunnel, noticing another glyph recess to his right. Perhaps it was for closing the door behind them. He left it alone. Even with the lamp held high, the tunnel faded quickly into pitch blackness before him, a yawning gulf that _wanted_ to swallow him alive, actively malicious where the rest of the Temple was simply malevolent.

“This is as far as I’m going for now, apprentice,” Zash said with a bright, rather nervous smile. “If you _do_ find that artifact, please bring it back with you, but your primary goal is to pacify the apparition. Best of luck!” And she turned to hurry back towards the Temple entrance.

Murlesson sighed. “Come on, Khem. Let’s go get murdered horribly.” Khem growled.

He looked about curiously. He might not be able to recognize styles at a glace, but he wasn’t unobservant, either. The interior was similar to what he’d seen on Korriban, but there were slight differences, and it seemed more roughly built. Local variation, perhaps. A lesser lord, maybe? Perhaps there was some circumstance that meant the tomb needed to be finished quickly. The walls were still covered in ornate carvings that shifted strangely in the light of his lamp. There was also the occasional body, but he ignored that.

The tunnel seemed to go on a long way, descending deeper and deeper into the mountain above them, winding slightly so he could no longer see the entrance behind him. The darkness and still air became more and more oppressive. He wondered how fresh the air was, if no one had opened this in recent years.

He passed through a doorway, and the door slammed shut on Khem’s heels. Murlesson jumped and inhaled sharply, then shook himself. He hadn’t sensed danger – more danger than the ambient Dark threatened, at least – so for whatever reason that door had closed, it wasn’t going to immediately cause his demise. There had been branches in the tunnel, but none of them seemed important, so all he could do was keep going and hope he could turn around later.

And then the whispers started. Indistinct sounds, mostly hissing. It wasn’t possible they could be caused by the wind, there was no wind in here. His hearts began to beat a little faster, a little more nervous. His attention was no longer on the interesting archaeological details about him.

Was that a whoosh he’d felt? The Force was shifting around him, and he didn’t know what it meant. His hearts were racing now, cold sweat breaking out on his neck, but he took deep breaths, trying to keep himself together. Fear was of the Dark Side, dammit, if anything attacked him he’d be able to unleash destruction on it – even if it was wild and uncontrolled right now. Another whoosh, another hissing chorus, and he felt another wave of cold sweat roll over him. What had Zash said? He needed humility to appease the ghost?

Up ahead there was a deep darkness his lamp couldn’t penetrate – a larger room, it seemed. In the doorway, something whooshed _right behind him_ and he whirled, but saw nothing. Gritting his teeth in fear and frustration, he cried out: “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with already!”

Instantly, something seized him in the Force and dragged him forward, flinging him into the air and slamming him hard into the ground. Dazed, he threw out his hand towards the dimly shining figure in the centre of the room, channelling lightning through it, and felt something grip his throat inexorably, raising him off the ground and choking him. He gasped and struggled, wildly, uselessly, panicking as he felt his consciousness fading. Still, if this was his end, he’d expected something a lot more painful. He was almost disappointed.

He’d resigned himself to death when suddenly he was released, and fell to his knees, gasping deep lungfuls of air. He could hardly focus on anything, but there did seem to be a pair of transparent boots before him.

“Yes… Yes!” said a voice, slightly echo-y, and he would dare guess, not just from the acoustics of the tomb. “I have been waiting for you. I felt your movements in the Force, and they stirred me from my nightmare.”

He looked up from his knees and saw a humanoid figure in a blank mask, shimmering slightly in the darkness. Good thing he didn’t really need the lamp anymore… ah, Khem had the lamp. Even as he noticed, there was a flicker from the back of the large chamber, and pale green lights clicked on all about him.

He’d been dragged up onto a raised area several steps above the floor, and before him, behind the ghost, was a sarcophagus of stone. The walls were covered in more of those disturbing carvings, but there was not much in the way of material goods in the tomb. Looted, perhaps, by Skotia or his predecessors?

The ghost continued. “I am still too weak to leave, but I knew if I made myself enough of a nuisance, you would eventually come. The Sith throw flesh endlessly at what they cannot control. And here you are, blood of my blood. Here you are.” He sounded very satisfied, which was… not comforting, under the circumstances.

“Didn’t know I was so popular,” Murlesson muttered. No, he needed… humility. “You were expecting… me, then?”

“Ah, you don’t know me,” said the ghost said, sounding mournful. “Has our family fallen so far that the son of my sons does not know the name of Kallig, the name so long revered in the annals of the Sith?”

“Nobody knows who this tomb belongs to,” Murlesson. “And I’ve certainly never heard or read the name Kallig before.” Definitely deleted, then. How unfortunate for the ghost.

The ghost shook its head in despair, but reached up and removed its mask, revealing another Zabrak, his hair styled in a short mohawk, his eyes bright fierce points in a dark face. “You are my descendant, young Murlesson – by how many generations, I do not know. But know this: your strength in the Force has awakened me from my stupor.”

“How?” Murlesson demanded, starting to feel like death wasn’t quite as imminent as he’d been told. “How do you know I’m your descendent? How should I believe you? I don’t remember my _parents_ , for Force’ sake.”

“You do not feel it? Ah, but you have not yet fully learned to use your strength. How is it you do not know your parents?”

“Because I was a _slave_ ,” Murlesson growled. No, probing the ghost with the Force did not trigger any sort of familial familiarity in his senses. “Taken and sold as soon as I could shit on my own, the usual. I have no memories of them at all.”

Kallig’s eyes blazed, and he bared his teeth in wrath. “The galaxy _dared_ to touch _my_ family in such a way? Though our name be forgotten, how low we have sunk, that such a doom should befall us. Yet you have come to the path, as all with true power do. You will still restore us, and the galaxy will once again fear the name of Kallig. I have foreseen it.”

He wouldn’t place too much faith in the dreams of ghosts, either. He didn’t intend to let anyone know it was him killing them, and Murlesson Kallig sounded strange in his mind. “Fine. Assuming you’re correct, how shall I call you? Lord Kallig? Grandfather?”

“Grandfather… grandfather…” Something strange passed across Kallig’s face. “I would like that.”

“Fine… Grandfather. So how did I… awaken you?”

Kallig smiled, and it didn’t look completely sane from Murlesson’s point of view. “When the weaklings of this planet trespassed my tomb, I rose, resuming my former life. This cave became my kingdom, and I was once more a Lord of the Sith. But when you first grasped the hilt of your lightsaber, I knew my hour had come and gone – that your strength, not mine, would return our family to glory.”

“What happened to our family, then?”

Rage swept over Kallig’s face. “Our family was torn from greatness, crushed by the treachery of another – a man named Tulak Hord.” Convenient. And promising, if he considered the artifact he was also supposed to be looking for.

Khem growled. < _And yet you speak as if alive. I would serve my master well to correct that._ >

Kallig sneered haughtily at him. “Ha! Your master is dead, beast. You serve the child of Kallig now. Flesh of my flesh, you should teach your servant to obey.”

Murlesson glared at his monster. “Yes, shut up, Khem.”

Khem glared back. < _Yes… my master._ >

Kallig nodded. “Good. You must not take obedience for granted. In restoring our bloodline to glory, you must not make the same mistake that I did. Treachery is the Sith’s endless game, and you must win it. Beware your master, beware your apprentice. Never be taken by surprise. Do these things, and you will be unstoppable.”

“I will,” Murlesson said.

“But you have not come to see me, I know. You have come for the artifact that I managed to wrest from Tulak Hord before he died.” Kallig gestured to the sarcophagus. “Take the artifact, but be careful – I know not what it does. Only that betrayal follows it everywhere.”

Betrayal followed _Sith_ everywhere. “I’ll try not to get shanked over it.” He’d hand it over to Zash and then not worry too much about it until she used it to try and kill him.

Kallig put his mask back on. “I hunger for the day when our power will be restored. We will meet again.”

“Fantastic,” Murlesson said, after the ghost had vanished into thin air. The lights stayed on, though, so he could see to open the sarcophagus.

It was heavy, and it _felt_ like it had never been opened. Still, the desiccated Zabrak corpse inside was conspicuously missing a distinctive mask. He wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps he had lost it before he died. Perhaps it had been stolen between his death and his interment. In any case, there was a little cube in his hand. Murlesson reached in, slowly, apprehensively, and plucked it out, trying not to touch the dead hand. Kallig might have been dead, but his body radiated anger still.

He tried to lift the lid back on, but it was too much for his scrawny muscles. …Why was he trying to use his arms? Was he stupid? Was the air getting to him? He reached out a hand and lifted the lid easily with the Force, placing it carefully back down where it had been. If Zash asked where he’d found the artifact… he’d make something up. Even though he didn’t feel much loyalty towards some bones in a box, he didn’t feel comfortable exactly with letting them lie exposed – or letting Zash poke them as she wished.

Khem huffed, dissatisfied with everything. Murlesson rolled his eyes at him. “Did you kill my… grandfather?”

< _Yes,_ > Khem said. < _It was a difficult, but quick fight. I would kill again for my master if I could._ >

He supposed he was lucky Khem hadn’t chewed on his ancestor before he’d been interred. “Yes, yes, whatever. You try and kill me and I put you back in stasis for a thousand years. Come on. Zash is waiting.”

Zash gushed over the artifact, calling him ‘brave’ and ‘clever’, and then went to examine the tomb herself, to try to learn who lay in it. He kept quiet, and so did Khem. But she also went into full-on teacher mode, exclaiming dramatically over every little detail, calling him over to look at things he definitely missed on the first pass. He learned a lot, certainly, about the styles of Tulak Hord’s era, that the tomb had indeed been constructed in haste and probably secrecy.

When she had exhausted every nook and cranny, she turned to him, still as energetic as when she’d started. “Let’s go home, apprentice. You must be tired, but you did a great thing today. And you should know, I have a surprise for you!”

Murlesson frowned, instantly wary. “What kind of surprise?”

She smiled even more brightly, and he trusted her even less. “Trust me, you’ll love it. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

Well, that meant he wasn’t sleeping well that night, not at all.

The next day, he entered Skotia’s former chambers in search of Zash. Surely her ‘surprise’ didn’t mean his immediate death and disposal right after breakfast, not after he’d lived through the night without incident. He found her at a desk, poring over a stack of datapads, the cube artifact beside them. She looked up with a pleased smile. “Good morning, apprentice! How do you like the new office?”

“It’s spacious,” he said, looking around. There were a lot more shelves in it, reminiscent of the storage facility. Half of them held books, the other half artifacts.

“Isn’t it? And a treasure trove of research, too. Who would’ve thought a man like that had such a curious intellect? It almost makes me regret that we had to kill him.” She was lying; she had no regret whatsoever. “You’ll want to read this one, for sure.” She held out a datapad to him; he brought out his own to receive the incoming file.

“I look forward to it,” he said.

“Now, I’ve been studying Tulak Hord’s artifacts closely for some time, and one glance at this one you’ve brought back confirms everything I’ve suspected. These artifacts will change everything, apprentice. You, especially.” He side-eyed her, but she didn’t seem to realize those words could be construed threateningly. “They will make you more powerful than you could imagine. I have foreseen it.”

He frowned. “What do they do, exactly?”

“The artifact is one of five that together describe a peculiar ritual used by the great Tulak Hord when he conquered the Dromund system. Until I have all the artifacts, I cannot understand the full nature of the ritual, but I have foreseen that you alone will wield the ritual’s power.”

He frowned some more. Did she not realize how terribly suspicious that sounded? Did she think he was stupid? An apprentice, wield the power of Tulak Hord? She was setting him up for something, and until he knew _exactly_ what, he wasn’t buying it.

“The artifacts are scattered across the galaxy, some hidden by Tulak Hord himself, and some wrenched from his hands by betrayers.” Like his grandfather? “Documents in Skotia’s effects point to Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa. While you’re on the first two, I’ll do more research to locate the others, and then go and fetch them, if all goes well. We shall see how the time goes.”

“Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa, hmm?” He called to mind what he knew about both planets, but something really obvious occurred to him. “Um… what do I do to get there?”

She practically grinned at him. “Ah, yes. That brings me to my surprise. Can you guess what it is?”

“A commemorative mug,” he guessed sarcastically. With such a lead-up, it probably wasn’t death, so he could afford to be a bit silly.

She snorted. “If you’re going to find these artifacts, you’ll need a ship, and so I have ordered you one. Brand-new, fairly advanced. All you need to do is pick it up.”

His mouth dropped open. A… _ship_? For _him_? She wasn’t afraid he’d run away on Nar Shaddaa? No, she wouldn’t be afraid; she’d track him down if he disappeared, no matter what; she’d invested enough in him he could hardly imagine her letting him go. He was still on a leash, even if a fairly loose one.

Still, the gift of a ship for his own personal use was something he’d hardly dreamed of since he was… ten, perhaps. “I don’t… I can’t…”

She waved off his stammering. “You’ve earned it, apprentice. You brought me the map, you brought me this artifact, you killed Skotia, you’ve run _many_ little errands for me, and you passed your school exams with flying colours. A ship is the least of what you deserve. And not only a ship, but a pilot to fly her, too.”

“Oh, good,” Murlesson said. Astrogation was _still_ not his favourite subject. “Where do I find her?”

“Him. Oh, you meant the ship. They should both be at the spaceport. I believe the ship is named the Viper; not my choice, but if you strongly dislike it we can get the registration changed.”

“It’s perfect,” Murlesson said. “At least, I’m sure it is. All of it.”

Zash smiled at his awkward enthusiasm. “I’m glad. Safe travels, my apprentice, and don’t forget to call me once you reach your destination!”

Navigating the spaceport to get to his ship was easier than he’d expected; if nothing else, the Empire was organized, once he got through the line-up at the check-in counter, it was a brisk walk through the terminal to the private wing. There were hundreds of people of a reasonable variety – officers and droids and soldiers and slaves and Sith, even some people who looked more like mercenaries or even private citizens. He didn’t think there _were_ private citizens on Dromund Kaas. Most of them were human; none of them gave him a second look. Zash had also provided him with a new set of apprentice robes, since his old ones were getting rather shabby, and he blended right in. Khem did not, but that couldn’t be helped. Murlesson kept his head up and avoided eye contact.

He located the docking bay the check-in counter had given him, and let the attendant droid run his ID card to allow him access to the elevator. He wanted to fidget, on the elevator, but he had to maintain at least the appearance of calm. It was only a few seconds, but it felt much longer before the door chimed and opened, revealing the ship.

It looked brand new, a collection of sleek lines in dark metal that did not disguise the very Imperial-looking cockpit viewport. He jogged forwards, his excitement getting the better of him, staring up at it with open mouth. He just couldn’t believe this was for _his_ use.

He heard a low chuckle from his right, and turned to glare at the bald, tattooed human man slouching on a refueling cart. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” said the man, apparently not caring that Murlesson didn’t appreciate being laughed at.

“And you are the pilot?” Murlesson asked, a little coldly. The man wasn’t wearing any sort of Imperial uniform, but an armoured leather jacket and pants like a mercenary.

“Sure am. The name’s Andronikos Revel. I’m a damn good pilot, and I’ve got contacts a Sith’ll never make on his own. But don’t worry, it’s your show, no questions asked. Your Darth Zash’s hired me on a long-term basis to shuttle you about wherever you need to go, and if you have need of my sharpshooting at your destination, or minor errands beneath your notice, I’m up for that too.”

“Have you worked for her before?” Murlesson inquired.

“Oh, sure. Not frequently, but she calls me up for odd jobs now and then. Quite a lady, clever, too.”

“This is a little unusual, then, isn’t it?”

Revel shrugged. “She must think highly of you, kid, she’s paying the big bucks to keep me on board for you. Of course, it’s also a good chance for me to pick up leads for my own agenda, too.”

“I’m not a ‘kid’,” Murlesson objected with great dignity, but catalogued that for future reference. If he were able to assist Revel in his own agenda, then perhaps Revel would be amenable to helping him in the inevitable fall-out of the next life-altering explosion.

“Yeah, all right.” Revel still thought of him as a kid, he could tell. Well, he wasn’t going to be able to intimidate him like Khem Val. Khem was bound by his honour, but Revel was a free man. They worked differently. “Would you like a tour of the ship?”

“Yes,” Murlesson said. “I’m told she’s new.”

Revel led him around the outside, gesturing to various visible features. “Yeah, the Viper’s the newest, most high-tech vessel I’ve had the pleasure of getting my hands on. A custom CEC VT-2 hyperdrive, four ZX1 laser cannons, add in a few M5.8 missiles for good measure, and genuine Hoersch-Kessel 1777 shields mean you’ll be safe and sound whenever you’re in the black. Not to mention a shiny new holocomm, full holonet capability and ample crew quarters – should you be looking to pick up any passengers.”

“What’s… what _is_ the holonet?” Murlesson inquired slowly. He’d heard mention of it, but Zash had said he wasn’t yet ready to use it, so he hadn’t cared before. But if it was on his ship…

Revel blinked at him in shock. “You’ve never used the holonet? Kid, we’ve got a lot to learn. C’mon.”

“Not a kid,” Murlesson muttered, but followed Revel inside and to a terminal behind the holocomm. Revel turned on the terminal and began to do rapid things to it, eventually settling on a very cluttered-looking screen.

“How to sum it up,” Revel muttered. “The holonet is the greatest communications development in the history of… everything.” Murlesson lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but Revel continued. “News, data, information, private messages, culture… porn… if you can digitize it, you can put it on the holonet and access it from anywhere. How’d a bright ki- er, young man like you miss out on it?”

“I’ve had a sheltered life,” Murlesson said with dark humour, shrugging. “Can your presence be traced on the holonet?”

“To some extent. How about I point you to a place you can ask questions and get reasonably accurate answers?”

“’Reasonably accurate’?” Murlesson asked skeptically, dumping his small backpack on the floor and taking the seat Revel held out for him, eyes already flickering over the text before him at high speed.

“Don’t take anything you read on the holonet at face value,” Revel said, grimacing. “Folk like to lie, for some reason. And there’s a lot of idiots who believe anything. Well, that’s all there is to it, hope you get some use out of it. Were you looking to take off immediately, or did you have some other business to take care of first?”

Murlesson gestured vaguely in what he hoped was the direction of the cockpit, engrossed in his reading. “We’re going to Nar Shaddaa first.”

“Right, that’ll be six days. Get comfortable.”

“I am.”

It was about six days later they reached the planet; Murlesson had hardly pulled his head out of the holonet terminal except to observe entering and exiting hyperspace. He’d discovered an entire new galaxy of information, most of it colossally useless, but some of it invaluable. While he tried to do some preliminary research on Nar Shaddaa, he kept getting distracted by random things that were just _interesting_ without being immediately relevant. Although maybe video of baby gizka wasn’t relevant for anyone at any time, they were just horribly distracting and he wasted a whole _hour_ watching them frolic before closing the window entirely in self-reproach. The holonet in general was addicting, but it was also incredibly useful, if you could avoid the lies and misinformation. There were just so many people who were _wrong_ about so much! He really had to control the urge to correct them; even anonymous comments could probably be traced back to him and he wanted to leave as little a trail as possible.

Khem had lurked in a corner the whole way, or paced through the corridors, utterly bored. Not his problem. Revel answered a few more questions about the holonet, showed him how to navigate it in more stealthy ways, but largely kept himself busy with his own devices. The ship droid kept Murlesson supplied with caf, but warned him that overconsumption was bad for his health, especially at his age. He ignored the warning and kept drinking it. What health? He wasn’t expecting to live for another five years, really. He also ate everything snack-styled containing sugar and salt in the mess, despite the droid’s efforts to prepare nutritious meals tailored to a Zabrak’s carnivorous diet.

But when Revel informed him that they were exiting hyperspace, Murlesson came to see. It was still new to him, after all. Through the cockpit viewport, Nar Shaddaa was brown and gold, a massive planet-sized city shining into the night of space, but in the Force it was a massive churning cloud, a metaphorical gas giant of largely negative emotions. Delightful.

As ordered, he called Zash on the holocomm, and she answered immediately, as if she’d been expecting him, though he hadn’t said where he was going first. “Ah, apprentice, you’ve reached Nar Shaddaa safely. Good. Don’t let the glittering towers fool you. Misery and desperation rule the slums below. And desperation can drive people to many things. Remember that in your attempts to recover the artifact here.”

“Do you have any leads for where to start?” he asked. He’d somewhat belatedly realized after lifting off that he was one person searching an entire planet for a somewhat insignificant artifact, which he didn’t know what it looked like or what it did. The holonet hadn’t been very inspiring, either. Ancient Sith artifacts were not the topic of general discussion, and the ones he was looking for certainly weren’t the topic of specific discussion. He was sure he could find it, but the more time he could save, the better. Or not, depending on what happened when he found it.

“In this case, the ‘who’ is more important than the where’,” Zash said. “It seems the artifact is a pendant called the Eye of Tulak, currently in the possession of the Sith Lord Paladius. He’s lived here many years, converting Nar Shaddaa’s poor and suffering into zealous followers. His own cult, if you will.”

“I see,” Murlesson said. That was more than he’d dared hope for. “Do you want him dead, or just relieved of the artifact?”

“I couldn’t care less. It would probably be prudent to ensure that he doesn’t come on some misguided quest for revenge afterwards, however.” Full permission to obliterate another Sith from the galaxy, then.

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do. …Murlesson out.”

He didn’t set off right away, instead pacing back and forth slowly, trying to come up with an initial plan. Obtaining the artifact could be as simple as breaking in and stealing it, but until he was more familiar with Paladius’s base, security, and even whether the artifact were in his immediate possession or not, he wasn’t going to even think of that. Then, how did he get information? He could pose as a member of Paladius’s cult. Paladius would have no idea who he was, and he could work his way up the ranks until he was close enough to kill him and take over himself. On the other hand, that might take a long time, and since this didn’t involve actual archaeology, he was impatient.

Paladius’s cult… hadn’t Skotia’s Trandoshans been part of a cult? His followers would be difficult to sway, therefore – Zash had said not to underestimate ‘blind religious fervour’. In that case…

He pounded a fist into his other palm. “I know! I’ll start my own cult!”

He’d forgotten about Andronikos, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with amusement. “Just like that? Start your own cult? Just snap your fingers and it appears?”

“Of course not,” Murlesson said irritably. “I need to do some preparation and a lot of reconnaissance. Do we have any red string?”

“Er… Maybe? I’ll see what I can dig up.”

As Murlesson set to work at the lounge table with the string, both red and black, he frowned in perplexity. “Revel, tell me something. If you can.”

“I’ll do my best,” Revel grunted, sitting on the other end of the lounge and watching with great curiosity.

“I _know_ this will work. But I still don’t understand _why_. I’m not a religious figure; I’m not even religious. So what is it about religion that people follow it, in whatever form, in such droves? It’s not necessary for survival, sometimes it even hinders survival. So why?”

< _Because they are stupid,_ > Khem Val put in. < _Use them and do not consider them further._ >

“Shut up, Khem. If I don’t understand things fully, I’ll be as great a fool as you. Revel? Any thoughts?”

Revel stretched out his arms along the back of the couch, getting comfortable. “Well, now, you’re a bright one, surely you’ve already figured out most of the answers.”

“The answers don’t make sense. Certainly not a glib one like ‘they’re all stupid’.”

“Everyone needs something to believe in, whether it’s a higher power, immortal or not, or their own damn self, no? And for a lot of people, believing in a higher power makes them feel a lot better than believing in themselves. When you feel virtuous, it’s instant spiritual gratification.”

“Ah.” Murlesson nodded. “So it’s about ego.”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“But when their deity or figure doesn’t answer them, do they not doubt?”

“Maybe some do, but that’s the whole thing about religion – you believe what you _want_ to believe. And it’s easier to blame bad things on the gods being mean, and telling yourself that they’ll be nicer next time if you behave better, than it is to blame circumstances or worse, yourself.”

“That’s what I thought, but how they could be so lazy in picking what they want to believe…”

“Sure,” Revel said, “but remember what your boss said about desperate people. When you’re a few hours away from starvation and you don’t know where you’re going to sleep at night, you’re not going to look too closely at anything that looks like a way out.”

Murlesson frowned to himself. He’d been mistreated harshly, but not outright starved – on a regular basis – and he had certainly known where he was sleeping at night, with a fair chance he’d wake up in the morning. Was that the difference, then? He’d still had enough resources to keep his objectivity? Or if he’d grown up in Nar Shaddaa’s slums, would it have made a difference?

< _Like I said, they are stupid,_ > Khem said. < _They cannot see reality, and if they did, it would crush them._ >

“Khem, I already told you.” Khem subsided with a grunt. “You don’t believe in anything, it seems, Revel.”

“No, not at the moment,” Revel said with a chuckle. “My aunt always did, bless her soul, as she’d say.” A dark look crossed his face. “Had to do a lot of soul-searching after- well, after that thing happened. Revenge was a no-brainer, but took a lot of guts to own up to… me. That I can only believe in me, not some gods, not your Force, just me.”

“Well, sounds like you don’t want to talk about it, so I don’t care.”

Revel snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Then you already know me better than my master does.”

“It’s also a cultural thing,” Revel mused. “Culture and tradition are powerful. And culture’s important to just about everyone, even if they don’t ‘believe’ in anything specific.”

“Why is that important?” Murlesson demanded. He certainly didn’t need culture. Culture was what other people had, that he could study for weaknesses. Including and especially Sith culture.

Revel shrugged with his hands. “Religions shape culture. Cultures shape people. Without culture, what’s the point in living?”

“I’ll settle for living, first off,” Murlesson said dryly. “Culture is frivolous. Bonus. Frosting.”

“I’d largely disagree, but my point’s as easy as – what sort of music d’you listen to?”

“I don’t listen to music.”

Revel looked taken aback. “Why not?”

“I don’t know music. I never got to listen to it.”

Revel’s eyes bugged a little in disapproving astonishment. “How’re you a teenager and don’t know music?”

“You know the answer to that one,” Murlesson snapped.

“Maybe. All right, then, you should try’n find music you like. The holonet has everything.”

“All music ever created?” Murlesson asked, dry again.

“Perhaps not, but still more than you could ever listen to if you started as a newborn and never did anything else with your entire life. I’m sure there’s _something_ you’ll like.”

“Again, why is this important?”

Revel looked at him with what seemed to be pity. “Because life’s not all about work. Life’s not even exclusively about survival. You ought to be able to enjoy yourself somehow, as well. Find something to live for besides ‘show up those bastards’. Which is a commendable thing to live for, I’ll admit.”

“All right.” Murlesson grimaced. “So while I’m learning how to _‘have fun’_ or whatever, first I have to get these people to think I’m their personal messiah.”

“You might be thinking about it wrong,” Revel offered, and Murlesson made an annoyed face, because he hated being told he was wrong about something intellectual. “I know you started off with the concept of ‘religion’ – someone put that word in your head, didn’t they? Don’t think of it as _religious_ belief in you as a ‘figure’. Think of it like – you’re starting your own personal fanclub. Makes sense, ay?”

Murlesson blinked. “That does make more sense to me. The religious overtones will make it more effective, but I have to have a sort of belief in it too, even if it’s a very different one from my followers.”

“You’re welcome,” Revel said sardonically, bowing slightly. Murlesson rolled his eyes, gathered what he’d been working on, and headed for the docking ramp.


	6. How to Start a Cult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some fun here, gave Murlesson some initiative, indirectly introduced a new side character, poked fun at the fact that the final boss battle cutscene is all like “YOU CAN’T USE THE FORCE” and then you can totally use the Force in the actual fight. And the one and only time Murlesson will fall on his silly face and has to get picked up by someone not directly working for him.
> 
> Cult leader Murlesson uses [Aviators: Angel of the Dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo9sEmmJGss) as background music.

Part 6: How to Start a Cult

He walked through the dark places of the planet, the deepest slums on Nar Shaddaa – not the deepest accessible locations, no, there were things deeper and far worse somewhere below. But this was pretty far down, the farthest down sentient life had been squeezed. He was alone – no sense in Khem terrifying those he wanted to recruit.

But what he was looking for wasn’t there, and he was directed back up a dozen levels, to where there were still such amenities as _convenience stores_. He entered one, a dingy, shabby hole in the wall selling candy and sugared beverages and probably cheap spice out the back, and paused. There were five men and women of various species gathered around the counter, brandishing clubs threateningly; he could barely see the male and female human attendants behind it. Imminent violence and fear wavered in the air.

“Lord Paladius sends his regards to his dear departed children,” growled the leader of the belligerents, a human female. “Any last words?”

“He never cared about any of his ‘children’,” answered the man, clearly terrified, and furious because of it.

“We don’t need a tyrant for a father,” echoed the woman, cringing back.

“Lord Paladius, hmm?” Murlesson said, before things got carried away. He swung his unlit lightsaber hilt to rest on his shoulder, meaningfully. “So you would happen to be Rylee Dray and Destris Veran?”

“Who’re you?” demanded the hostile cultist woman, pointing her club at him.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to _you_ , since _you’re_ about to die.”

“Get him, boys!” cried the woman.

His lightsaber flashed with a slash, a stab, and two enemies were down already with hoarse screams. One of the rest had a gun; a zap of lightning exploded it in his hand. He howled while the other two lunged at Murlesson, who ducked, flowing around their powerful but clumsy strikes. One of them overreached, stumbling into a shelf full of chips and send it crashing over into the next one. Murlesson snapped his neck with the Force, almost without looking, blocked a swing from a club swung by the man formerly with the gun – cutting it in half in the process – and killed the attacker with the backswing. That left only the leader, who hadn’t yet noticed that everyone she’d come with was dead. She kept low, looking for an opening. He didn’t care, hauling her into the air with the Force, choking her until her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell limp.

He tossed the body carelessly out the door and turned to the two servers, who were staring in fear and awe at him. “It’s all right. They won’t hurt you.”

“W-who are you?” demanded the man, shaking, looking like he wanted to attack him too. Murlesson hoped he wouldn’t. The man was bigger than him, but he was also one of his objectives.

He nodded, trying to keep a soothing, earnest demeanour. “My name is Murlesson. I’m a friend. I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking all over.” Acting was kind of fun, when it wasn’t his life on the line.

“What for?” demanded the man. “What are you going to do to us?”

“Nothing that you don’t wish for,” Murlesson said. It was difficult, this first, sensitive step – to entice without promising anything, to invite without giving away too much information. “I’ve come looking for people who want to make a difference in their lives, and simply lack the opportunity to do so. I’ve come looking for those unjustly cast out. I’ve come looking for those who want to be free of these depths. And you two are reputed to be intelligent and strong.” They’d managed to find and hold down part-time jobs in Nar Shaddaa’s underbelly, while surviving reprisal from the organization they’d fled up until he arrived. If nothing else, they were tenacious.

The woman gaped at him. “But why? Who are you?”

“Because I used to be like you,” he said, putting back his hood, fixing them with an earnest gaze. It was close enough to the truth. “I used to be nothing, and now I am something. I have seen the suffering on this planet-” only a bit, while searching for the malcontented rejects of Paladius’s cult, but it had been enough- “and I know you are meant for more than this.”

“All right, then, why us?” asked the man, still suspicious. The woman, Rylee, was already falling under his sway, he could tell.

“I believe Lord Paladius was mentioned?” Murlesson asked, slightly dry, and watched them both react with angry expressions. “I sense your feelings, and I agree. I do not believe he is worthy to lead his followers.”

“You can say that again!” Destris exclaimed. “He’s cruel, and unfair! He lords over us to make himself feel good!” Rylee shushed him, but he was still fuming.

“Exactly,” Murlesson said. “You see… I am Sith, like him. I have only just begun to rise, yet I already have more power than him.” He had no idea how much power Paladius had, but he was confident that he was cleverer than him; he’d fake it if he had to. “I intend to steal every one of his followers from under his nose… and reunite them under you. How does that sound?” He leaned casually on the counter and smiled warmly at them.

Rylee and Destris exchanged a glance; there was determination and no small amount of vindictive anger in it. “That sounds real good,” Rylee said. “What do you want us to do?”

“I’ve prepared a place for us: a headquarters, if you like,” Murlesson said. Revel had found an unused office space in the nearby industrial district and Murlesson had already signed a lease with the Nautalan landlady. “But first, take these, if you would follow me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two bracelets of braided, knotted red and black string. _Give them a uniform and a personal salute and your armies will cohere swiftly_ , was the condensed advice of Naga Sadow. He didn’t want to give uniforms, at least not yet – he didn’t have the budget for that, once he started getting more followers, and he didn’t want them to stand out. But this he could do. It was distinctive, it was simple, it was easy to pass off as nothing, and easy to replicate for new members. He pulled up one sleeve of his robe, revealing a bracelet exactly the same. “It will mark you as my followers, yet not obviously. Only like shall know like.”

They both took them and put them on their wrists. “What shall we call you, master?” Destris asked.

“Master is fine,” he said.

Rylee peered at him. “How old are you, master? If I may ask? I don’t want to offend…”

“Old enough. It’s not age that counts. It’s strength. And I am strong.” He smiled at them, putting his hood back on, and they tentatively smiled back. “Now come. There is much to prepare.”

Oh, the things to prepare! The office had begun to transform, but with more hands it went quicker. One hall became a dorm, with a separate room for Rylee and Destris, already giving them perks above the rest. The manager’s office became his, of course. One room became a communal dining area. Besides the reception in front, he left the central area bare. “What are you going to do with it, master?” Destris asked.

“I’m still considering,” he said. “For us all to grow, you must have a purpose – and a job.” There was only so much in the budget Zash had given him, and it wouldn’t go a long way towards the rent – and the food they were going to consume. And the utilities. And anything else he might need on his current mission. He had to make them self-sufficient as soon as possible. He might need that space for something related to that.

“You work so hard, master,” Rylee said. “We will work just as hard!” She thought for a bit, then came out with, “You’re not how I expected you, master.”

“Why’s that?”

“When we first saw you, in all your power and anger, protecting us…” And he’d barely gotten warmed up in that fight. She hadn’t seen anything. “I still feared you might be like Paladius, self-absorbed and cruel… but you’re _kind_.”

He blinked. He was still a Sith, they were self-absorbed and cruel by definition, but he’d been certainly offering them gilded promises, of revenge, of leadership, of a better life – he could see how that might be construed as ‘kind’, even if it was all ultimately to serve his purposes. “Paladius never deserved you.” She looked up at him with a kind of admiration in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. “Why are you staring at me?”

“All right, Rylee, stop bothering the master,” Destris grunted, herding her away hastily. What was that all about?

For all they had grown up on the streets, their ignorance manifested in a kind of sweet naiveté. He wondered how they would view him if they could have seen him on the flight to Nar Shaddaa, hunched over his computer terminal with his mouth full of salted chips. They would probably have lost a lot of respect for him, but that was why they weren’t going to be his best friends, even if he was going to be their best friend.

He introduced them to Reven and Khem; he intended that his employee and minion should be as known to the following as he was, that they could come and go as they pleased, if they needed to. The first wisps of a long-term plan were already occurring to him. They liked Revel, but Khem disturbed them – as he’d known would be. They themselves were becoming more familiar to him – Destris was purely muscle and violence, and not all that interested in others besides himself, but Rylee was actually quite clever, especially with computers, even if she was shy and found it difficult to look him in the eye most of the time.

He taught them a ‘personal salute’ as Naga Sadow advised, but what he taught them was more of a secret handshake – the Chraemmeft Scukri, an ancient hand gesture once used by most Force users meaning ‘unity’, but then abandoned by the Jedi and adopted exclusively by the Sith, until it had fallen out of use a thousand years ago. No one who hadn’t read Ajunta Pall’s autobiography’s Second Analysis by Perr Kusta down to the endnotes would recognize it. If Zash ever met his following, perhaps she would be amused.

And he’d recruited a dozen more initiates off the streets, sound in body but simple of mind. He’d picked them carefully – perhaps at some point he’d take in anyone who wished to join, but right now he needed relatively competent help for Rylee and Destris, but not those smart or ambitious enough to take leadership from them. Goodness knew they’d have their hands full anyway. Especially with the influx of recruits he was expecting once he made his main offensive.

And none of this had anything to do directly with getting close to Paladius. But he was working on that, too. He’d found the place where Paladius’s cult congregated, had scouted it out carefully, weaving together a plot for the theatrics he would need to grasp their attention, their loyalty. The weak followed the strong; this was building up to nothing more than a giant Force pissing contest. He was confident he’d win, trickery or no – Paladius didn’t even appear to the bulk of his subordinates in person.

He hardly took a moment off, hardly resurfaced from the underworld except when he needed something from the upper levels. About a week after he’d arrived, he had to, to contact a building contractor about a small factory in the vicinity of his cult headquarters. What exactly he was going to do with it, he didn’t know yet, but manufacturing was a steady investment, especially in weapons, and that particular factory was already outfitted to produce computer chips. He needed an edge on the future; he’d already gotten a good handle on the past. At any rate, the contractor had ‘standards’, which meant he wanted to meet at the Slippery Slope on the Promenade, which meant travelling all the way up for this one errand…

He entered the bar, Force-suggesting away the server who was coming to check his ID, scoping out tables, when – “Aristheron?”

“Ah, Murlesson. I did not expect to see you here. What brings you here?”

“Business for my master. You?” Vany waved enthusiastically at him, and he waved back.

“The same. A thorn in his side needed removing.”

“I am glad to see you,” Murlesson said, honestly. Being without his social shield was slightly stressful, mitigated only by the fact that the proportion of Sith to non-Sith was far smaller on Nar Shaddaa than Dromund Kaas. “But I have a meeting to attend. Will you be here long?”

“I have time. I can spend another half-hour here.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Murlesson promised, having caught sight of his prey – an Ugnaught who probably didn’t know what he was getting into. “I’ll be back.”

He made good use of his most ruthless and toothy grin in that meeting, toying with the Ugnaught until he had what he wanted, and more – not just use of the factory, but ownership as well. And all it had really cost him was his remaining budget and a couple fancy drinks. While he might have to ask Zash for an extension, it was money well spent, in his opinion. Not glamourous, certainly didn’t have the same appeal as crawling around dusty old tombs away from living people and surrounded by old stories, though watching people squirm at vague threats was fun too.

He rejoined Aristheron as himself, slouching at the table with one knee tucked up by his chest, no false smiles, toothy or otherwise, bringing his iced caf with him and slugging what was left of it. “So what are you up to?”

Aristheron raised an eyebrow. “Hello, Murlesson. It has been a little while.”

Murlesson grimaced. Manners. “Hello, Aristheron. It’s a surprise to see you here on Nar Shaddaa.”

“I can’t say I enjoy the locale terribly much,” Aristheron admitted. “I much prefer… more refined, disciplined populaces.”

“All populaces have their vices,” Murlesson answered with disinterest. He didn’t know about it much from personal observation, after all.

“True, however: most populaces keep it decently muted, not gleefully on display as if proud of their filth.”

This was boring. “Why would you come, then?”

“There’s a certain Jedi I’ve been hunting down, but… it’s… proving elusive.” Aristheron frowned. “Sabran Kentalon, have you heard of… it?”

“It?”

“No matter how I research, I cannot find out what gender… it is. It seems content to be that way. It’s human, if it matters.”

“Irrelevant, anyway,” Murlesson said. “I’ll keep an ear out. What’s it doing that’s such a problem for Lord Emment?”

“Apparently… it has been sent to harass Imperial convoys in such a way as to cause us trouble with the Hutts. And it does it all with a smile. I’ve crossed blades with it once… and since then it has been much more wary. If you do find anything, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll get on it,” Murlesson said, adding it to his mental to-do list, after ‘inspect factory’ and before ‘smoke and mirrors for stupid cultists’. “Why ‘it’ and not ‘they’?”

“It referred to itself that way,” Vany said. “It said it was a singular being, not multiple. I think it’s cool.”

“Put on a jacket,” Murlesson said. He was no judge of ‘cool’.

Vany giggled. “Funny you say that, when you and Aris are both pretty cool yourselves.”

Murlesson felt embarrassment warming his neck and ears and was grateful when Aristheron asked: “What business are you on, then?”

“Retrieving an artifact for my master,” Murlesson said. “But to do that, I need to strip the Lord who holds it of power, that I may enter his base and be able to leave it alive. Would you like to come, when I get him isolated?”

“Perhaps I could be interested in being present,” Aristheron said. “Let me know when and where, and I might make an effort.”

“Lovely,” Murlesson said. He stood, and Aristheron followed. “I’ll send you a comm when it’s set up. Or if I find any news about Kentalon.”

“I will see you later, I’m sure,” Aristheron said, clasping his hand as an equal. Murlesson nodded to him, and set off.

“There is only one law, for the weak as well as the strong, and that is power!” Paladius’s overweight, armoured holoprojection boomed through Meridian Hall. “For too long, the weak of Nar Shaddaa have grown soft in the luxury of their towers, while the strong have wallowed in chains. But I tell you: united, there is no law that can stop you. Take back what is yours!”

“Indeed,” Murlesson murmured under the cheering, screaming acolytes around him.

“There are those who would tell you lies. Who spread rumours and false promises!” Oh good, Paladius was his biggest fan. “Already some among you are lost, having chosen the path of weakness. But you must shun this false messenger. The weak fear your growing strength and have sent him to break it.”

“And what makes _you_ worthy to be their leader, then, Paladius?” Murlesson called. The crowd rippled with surprise, drawing away from him, leaving him in an isolated space.

“Ah, the deceiver shows his face!” Paladius cried. “Behold, my children! Look how pathetic, how easily crushed by your collective might!”

But they hesitated to rush him, uncertain of the outcome, perhaps dimly sensing the Darkness rolling off him. ‘ _Sith throw flesh endlessly at that which they cannot control_ ,’ his grandfather’s words occurred to him. If the cultists around him attacked, he’d have to murder a large number of them, and that would be less than ideal. “What Paladius said is true,” he said, beginning his own speech. “There is only one law, and that is power. But Paladius has very little real power. He is a dangerous man, it is true. But he can’t do _this_.”

He bowed his head and clenched his fists, concentrating, focusing all the Dark Side within him, his black hatred. A relatively gentle Force push blasted out from him, throwing the nearest cultists back into those behind them, and then he began to levitate, fists still clenched at his sides, but focused on looking even more concentrated than he really was. He could feel the tendons standing out in his neck.

Right on cue, there was a rumble, an explosion from below, and the building began to quake violently, throwing the remainder of the cultists from their feet. Two enormous statues on either side of the hall snapped, the hidden charges going off in sync, collapsing to the ground – yet not in a way to land on anyone.

When he judged a sufficient amount of time had passed, he let himself float back to the ground, relaxing his stance, reveling in the cries of awe and fear about him, the wonder radiating through the Force. The ground was still shaking, though it was subsiding. Revel had done his demolition work perfectly.

Paladius guessed, of course. “Don’t be fooled! It’s a trick! Attack the deceiver! Attack!”

Murlesson restrained an eyeroll and dropped into a crouch as a dozen or so cultists rushed him with clubs, pistols, even just fists. Did they truly hope to survive, or even slow him down slightly? He had a _lightsaber_. A dozen, twenty, fifty – there were hundreds of people in the hall, he didn’t care how many attacked him. As they dove at him, he slid aside, swift as a coiling snake, then counterattacked. Though the Force told him where and when they would attack, the future spooling out through unspoken warnings in his hearts and gut, there still too many for him to take them down bloodlessly. He didn’t want it to become a bloodbath; he was there nominally to ‘save’ them from Paladius. But if he let down his guard to spare one person, they would be all over him.

So heads rolled and bodies fell in the first wave; he pushed the rest all back and sprayed a relatively weak lightning across them, keeping them down. They gaped up at him as he stood, tall and boyishly slender in his full height, looking down upon them… almost benevolently.

Sith. He was Sith, and all Sith were arrogant in their strength. Show them that and they would fear and follow him. Show them the face of a visionary, a mystic, and they would worship him.

He gave them a small, gentle smile. “Do you see now? You cannot defeat me. Paladius cannot defeat me. But I do not wish harm to you. Join me.”

Paladius roared from his holoprojector. “Trick! It’s all a trick!”

“It’s no trick,” Murlesson lied smoothly. “The ground and sky obey me.”

“Do it again, then!”

Murlesson frowned at him. “Why should I? Do not test me, Paladius. My patience grows thin with you. Can you match my strength? If you can, do it yourself. If not, have done with this unseemly mewling. If you had not ordered them upon me, these unfortunates would not have died. Their blood is upon your head!”

“Yeah!” yelled someone in the crowd, quickly shushed… but then another called out, and another, and pretty soon the mob was howling against Paladius, the Force thick with outrage.

Murlesson raised a hand, and they quietened.

“Very well,” Paladius said, his voice slightly ragged with anger and pretended regret. “My children, I will miss you. But this is not over, boy.”

Murlesson raised his chin pridefully. “As you say, Paladius.” Paladius pouted one last time, and then the holoprojector shut off.

“My lord!” whispered a cultist near him. “We are not worthy to be in your presence. We’ve never seen anyone like you. What must we do?”

The headquarters was going to be crammed, that much was for sure, even if only half of them came along. “I will give you purpose. I will give you direction.” And a five-year economic plan in the bargain. “You will reclaim your lives for your own, and in serving me, you will lift us all to new heights.”

“That sounds like what Paladius was saying,” grumbled one near the back; Murlesson lifted an eyebrow, and that one was quickly shushed by those around him. They hadn’t forgotten how easily he’d beaten them.

“My lord, we will do as you say,” said one of them near him, and a chorus echoed him.

As he guessed, only three-quarters of the crowd came with him; the rest disappeared along the way, either still loyal to Paladius, or just uncertain about him. The ones he had were more than enough. Returning to the headquarters with his new following was a little awkward, especially when some of the new cultists recognized Rylee and Destris. “How come they’re here!? They’re weaklings, Paladius said!”

“And why should you believe anything Paladius said any longer?” Murlesson told them. “Do not blame them for having the wisdom to recognize his lies a little sooner. They are my right hands here. You will obey them.” Hopefully Rylee and Destris didn’t do anything stupid with their new power… he didn’t want to have to replace them after all the grooming he’d given them.

“Yes, master,” said the cultists.

He left the other senior recruits to help the new ones settle in with food and bracelets, then took Destris and Rylee aside. “Ask them if they know anything about a Sabran Kentalon. I wish to know more of this person.”

“Yes, master!” Rylee chirped.

Within an hour, he knew a little more about Sabran Kentalon, most of the information useless and all of it second-hand. But apparently it had only arrived on Nar Shaddaa a month ago with its master, and often frequented a certain rooftop in the Corellian sector. He passed the info on to Aristheron and began planning his next move in more detail. While the cultists became acquainted with the factory and its current automated production of targeting computer processors, he needed to enter Paladius’s lair and acquire the artifact that all this rigmarole was _for_.

There was the nominal clean-up work; he had to send someone, probably Revel, to shadow the inevitable investigation into Meridian Hall’s explosion, and alter the record so it showed no sign of bombs. He’d already intimidated and Force-persuaded his way into the hall’s subfloors to allow Revel to place the explosives in the first place, and he didn’t want his cult to find out the truth too quickly. He wondered briefly if it would be worth it to murder the investigators, or at least track them down and try to wipe their memories, but the whole event would probably not become a major news item. Unless someone from his cult was _very_ suspicious, and the investigators’ integrity _very_ strong, his time and energy were best spent elsewhere.

And he had to spend a lot of time with his people, but not too much – enough that they knew him, knew that he ‘cared’, yet not so much that they ceased to fear him or grew too close to him. He certainly didn’t need them bowing to him, though it was rather nice, actually. But right now he was rather busy, and Rylee and Destris could _probably_ handle things while he was off working for Zash.

He was interrupted from his musings by a commotion from the front, and came forward from his office to see one of the new converts kneeling in the midst of a crowd of others, shaking, panting, looking fairly terrified out of his wits. “M-my lord! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. They said they’d kill me. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t.”

Murlesson knelt before him to get on his level, and heard several cultists gasp in respect. He bet Paladius never did that. “Who said they’d kill you?”

“P-P-Paladius’s men. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t bring you this.” He held out a small metal object, which after one panicked moment, Murlesson recognized for a harmless holocommunicator.

He leveled an unimpressed look with the unfortunate man, who cowered. Or maybe he was cowering away from Khem, who had also taken the item to be a threat at first and was considerably scarier. “I’m glad that you’re alive, but do be sure that whatever you’re coerced into bringing in _isn’t_ a bomb, yes? You could have killed everyone except me.” Actually, everyone including him, but he had a reputation to keep up.

“I-I-I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” Murlesson said gently. “Just don’t do it again. Now let’s have that.”

He took the holocommunicator from the shaking man, and strolled back to his office, inviting Rylee and Destris along with a wave.

“You wanted us, master?” Destris grunted as Murlesson closed the door behind them. Revel was already lounging in a corner, flipping a coin over and over. Khem stood guard by the door.

“Paladius wishes to talk,” Murlesson said. “I thought you might wish to show him how much you’ve grown without him already.”

“Thank you, master,” Rylee said.

“Now, let’s see…” He placed the holocommunicator on the table and activated the frequency it was tuned to.

Paladius’s holo sprang into being above the device. “Ah, Sith – Murlesson, wasn’t it? Good evening. How good to talk to you again. I’m sorry to use such an unconventional method to contact you, but I had to be sure you got the message. You understand.”

“You have my attention,” Murlesson said coldly. “For now.”

Paladius smiled jovially. “Wonderful. You see, I’ve had a bit of a revelation. When you first attacked my cult, I took it very personally. And then I realized: you’re Zash’s apprentice! All this trouble is just about some silly artifact. Let’s let bygones be bygones, hm? We can meet at my place, in Network Access. We’ll chat, I’ll give you the artifact, and all will be mended.”

“I’m not particularly forgiving,” Murlesson said to him. How stupid did he think he was? ‘All will be mended’? What did Paladius get out of it? “You lie, you pay.”

Paladius nodded. “I promise, no tricks, or may I die creditless on Tatooine scrubbing a Jedi’s back. Take time to consider my offer. But not too long, or my good mood may sour. And go ahead and bring your friends.”

“Lying son of a Hutt!” Destris burst out as soon as Paladius hung up. “You’re not seriously considering it, are you?”

Khem huffed in bloodthirsty anticipation. < _Do not listen to the little coward. We will devour this Sith, my master_.>

Murlesson snorted. “I know it’s a trap. It can’t be anything else. But you really think me so weak as to fall before _him_?”

“We’re just worried,” Rylee said soothingly. “You’ve been so good to us, we don’t want to lose you.”

“On the other hand, it won’t be as easy as that,” Murlesson scolded Khem, who blinked in uncaring. “Well, we have coordinates. Shall we?”

“Right now?” Rylee asked, eyes wide.

“Why wait?” Murlesson said, texting Aristheron. “There’s no more need to prepare. He’s isolated. He has no particular special abilities. Khem and I together should be more than enough to take him on. Destris and Revel can hold the rear against any remaining loyalists, can’t you?”

“Just let me at ’em,” Destris muttered.

“After you,” Revel said, standing and bowing them out of the office. Murlesson didn’t know what that was about, Revel was still driving the rental car.

An hour later, they pulled up outside of a certain door in the Network Access neighbourhood. Murlesson got out first, surveying the door with distaste. It was fairly elaborate for Nar Shaddaa, but he supposed that was the point. A few cultists were lounging outside, and they glared heatedly at the little group as they approached. Murlesson ignored them entirely.

Inside was a lavish palace, with bright blue and gold lighting, massive viewscreens, and crystalline trees. His own place was a dump in comparison. On the other hand, he shared it with his followers. This place was clearly only for Paladius’s use. The way Rylee and Destris gaped in wonder reinforced that assessment. He raised an eyebrow at them. “You want pretty lights and big displays?”

“Ah, er, no, master,” Rylee was quick to deny, looking down. She was lying, hard, trying to say things that would please him.

“Maybe a little,” Destris said, looking away.

He smirked. “Maybe when we’re more financially stable.” Material goods were a good recruiting draw.

They walked down a sweeping staircase to a lower floor, where there was an elaborate lounge and bar. Paladius was there, bustling behind the bar, still in his armour as a Sith; two Weequays stood at either end of the counter. He blustered as they approached. “Murlesson! Destron! Rachel! I’m so glad you’ve come. You have made a wonderful decision. Can I offer you anything? A drink? And don’t mind Var-Nok and Shar-Nok; they never leave my side.”

“Just the artifact, thanks,” Murlesson said, sardonically polite. He was starting to feel strange. Was there something in the air? All the more reason to get the artifact and out, quickly. He’d have to decide what to do with Paladius permanently later…

Paladius turned back to the bar anyway, pouring himself a drink. He gulped it, then turned, with a look on his face that had Murlesson reaching for his lightsaber. “So confident. So amazingly confident. But I dare say, you’ve gravely underestimated me.” Murlesson stared at his fat smug smirking face, wondering why he felt so weak. Paladius continued. “That painful twisting you feel in your gut is your essence draining, rather rapidly. And that hollow, sinking feeling? Your connection to the Force being severed. Soon you will be no more powerful than little Denton here, or Ramona. Oh! Except you’ll be dead, too.”

Murlesson fell to his knees, feeling light-headed, his gut churning as Paladius had said. How was- He’d- He was dying. The artifact! Was this its power? He hadn’t done enough research beforehand. Frakking Force! Rylee and Destris had backed away as if whatever was being done to him was catching, but Khem was standing over him protectively, and Revel was toying with his blaster, just waiting for a signal to shoot or run.

He forced himself to lift his head with through pure willpower and hatred, glaring daggers at his enemy. “I can still kill you.” He could barely feel anything, numb to the Force and to his skin, but he thrust out one clawing hand to blast Paladius with telekinesis, lightning, anything. Nothing happened except he looked rather foolish.

Paladius chortled. “Ha! Not so powerful anymore, are we?” He stepped out from behind his bar, adopting a lecturing tone. “Greater Sith than you have fallen before me. Did you think you were the first to try to steal my cult? I could choke the life out of you right now, but since you seem so very eager – let’s settle this with lightsabers.” His lightsaber appeared in his hand, malevolent red, and he strode forward.

Khem dragged Murlesson a little back by the scruff of his robe and tossed him in the direction of safety. The assassin was being overconfident; he still wasn’t at his full strength. Murlesson floundered, struggling to stand. Rylee ran to him, pulling at his arm, helping him up. But once he was up, could he fight? The pain in his body was spreading, scorching his hearts, or that was what it felt like.

One bodyguard was down, shot in the head by Revel as everything started. The other was crouched behind the bar, trading shots with Revel and Destris, who were crouched behind a corner of the stairs. Khem reached Paladius, swinging with his broadsword, and Paladius blocked before Force-pushing Khem away. “Go hide,” Murlesson ordered Rylee, thumbing on his lightsaber, but he couldn’t fight like this, barely able to stand without her support. His hatred was surging, simmering, but for once it did nothing.

Paladius was nearly on him, laughing gleefully, and reaching out his hand to knock him back down again. Murlesson tumbled head over heels, skidding painfully over the metal floor. His lightsaber clattered somewhere a few metres away; might as well have been kilometres for all the good was to him now. He didn’t have the strength to get up again, could only breathe and focus on the fat man advancing on him. For once he wasn’t even afraid, though his death was before him, only frustrated that it should have come so easily, that his power had been denied him. Maybe that was how he made others feel. That just made him angrier.

A black and gold figure dropped from the upper level with a commanding shout. “Lord Paladius!”

“A-Aristh-theron,” Murlesson breathed, disbelief and relief flooding through him in equal measure.

Paladius spun. “And who are you?”

“Aristheron Laskaris of Talcene. I will not permit you to harm my ally. Put up your weapon, and I will spare you my wrath.” Aristheron’s saber was vertical before him in a guard position, steady, unwavering, solid as the earth.

Paladius barked a short laugh, clutching at something inside his robes. “You would save this _child_ , Laskaris? It is not worth your life. But if you insist…”

Vany, up above still, took an experimental shot at Paladius, who reflected it back in her direction. She squeaked and ducked. “Vany, keep back,” Aristheron ordered, his expression changing – he was beginning to feel the same thing Murlesson had felt when he entered. Revel and Destris, finished with the other bodyguard, had their guns trained on Paladius uselessly. Khem was up again, stalking more cautiously around their enemy.

Murlesson twitched his fingers. Was it just him, or was feeling returning to his extremities? He could feel a trickle of feeling, of power. “Aristheron! The artifact – he can only target one of us at a time!”

“Understood,” Aristheron said, sliding forward on the attack, lightsaber flickering forwards. Paladius turned towards him fully, barely raising his saber to block in time, instead channelling his intent into the artifact no doubt in his hand at that very moment. Aristheron faltered, falling to one knee, jaw clenched in anger.

And Murlesson bolted into action. He could still only partly feel the Force, as if he were half-deaf and half-blind, but it was enough. His hatred finally erupted, boiling through his limbs like molten metal as he sprinted towards his target, his lightsaber raised to kill.

Paladius reflexively threw out his arm to Force-push him back; he blasted through the wave and slashed. His strike fell just short, severing Paladius’s arm. The Sith screamed and fell to his knees, dropping his lightsaber to clutch at his shoulder. Behind him, Aristheron raised himself to his feet again, his face stern.

Murlesson stalked towards Paladius, feeling his full power envelop him. He reached out and lifted him into the air. “Rylee, Destris, care to have your revenge at last?”

Rylee stayed crouching behind her potted fern, but Destris came out from his corner slowly. “Aye, I think I would.” And he shot Paladius in the gut.

Paladius sobbed. “Pl-please… Great lord… P-powerful lord…”

“I never asked what he did to you,” Murlesson said, casually. “But it must have been something pretty bad for a gut shot to seem like reasonable revenge.”

“When we said we wanted to leave, he tortured us with lightning before throwing us away,” Destris growled. “We had to dodge his men for a week before we found a place to hide.”

Murlesson tutted. “Tortured you with lightning?” He turned to Paladius, heedless of Aristheron standing there. He laughed and it wasn’t entirely stable. “Don’t you know? That’s how you get _monsters_ like _me_. But I’m _their_ monster.”

Aristheron took a step forward. “This is unseemly, Murlesson. Finish it quickly, or not at all.”

Murlesson cast a glance at him, the Darkness in his belly nearly overwhelming his judgment at being checked. But it was Aristheron, his friend, one of the few people whose good esteem he valued, and he forced the Darkness down. “Very well.”

“Pl-please,” Paladius begged. “I want to live…” Murlesson snapped his neck. Rylee winced.

Murlesson turned to his cult leaders. “Thank you for being here. Would you wait outside for me?”

“Yes, master,” Destris said, and turned to go. Rylee hurried after him. Revel shrugged and followed, though Murlesson hadn’t said he should, but it was a good idea – the more people together, the safer they were.

When they had gone all the way upstairs, Murlesson turned to Aristheron. “I… apologize.” He bowed his head with a tired sigh. “I got carried away.” Though, both Destris and Rylee had appreciated the display of his power and the closure they’d been given, he had felt it. But that wouldn’t fly with Aristheron’s honour.

“He was about to kill you, and your feelings got the better of you,” said Aristheron. “But that is what it means to be Sith – to let your emotions give you power, without letting them control you. You must do better next time.”

“I must,” Murlesson agreed fully. He’d gone into the situation inadequately prepared for the artifact, for his enemy, for the room, for everything. “It won’t happen again.” But he felt Aristheron’s haughty coldness evaporating after his apology, so one thing was mended, at least. “How was the fight with Sabran Kentalon?”

“Inconclusive,” Aristheron said, frowning. “When I received your message, Vany mentioned Paladius’s name aloud, and Kentalon escaped, urging me to go to you. As I was unable to follow, I did so.”

“What an odd person,” Murlesson said. “I can’t decide if I like it or hate it.”

“It saved your life,” Aristheron pointed out. “But I’ll admit it was smiling in a most aggravating way the entire time.”

Murlesson stepped towards Paladius’s corpse and retrieved the Eye of Tulak, holding it up to the light. It looked like a simple silver octahedron on a chain, but he could feel the Force moving restlessly about it. He certainly wouldn’t underestimate _that_ again. Whatever Zash was doing with it, he didn’t want any part of it. He wondered if he’d get a choice. Probably not. “I’m done here, then.” The others followed as he climbed back up the stairs. He glanced about at the top. “Rylee thought the trees were pretty. Maybe I should send some people over for them.”

“’Some people’?” Aristheron inquired. “Who were those two, anyway?”

“Do you _like_ her?” Vany put in, smiling cheerfully, like she hadn’t just seen a powerful fat old man murdered horribly.

“She’s all right,” Murlesson said, wondering what Vany was getting at. “She’s rather clever, in her own way – more than Destris, at any rate. Why are you grinning?”

“Oh, nothing!” Vany looped her lekku about her neck, put her hands behind her head, and began to strut towards the doorway.

Murlesson blinked at Aristheron. “She means to ask if you have… romantic feelings for her,” the older man explained.

Murlesson blinked harder. “What. No? No. That’s not something I think about.”

“Aww,” Vany said. “I bet she’s nice. She looks like she’s nice.”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Murlesson said. Yes, he supposed Rylee was… ‘nice’. Not that he was going to say that in Vany’s earshot, anyway. Or Rylee’s. “To answer your question, Aristheron, I now have my own… personal fan club on Nar Shaddaa.” That was what Revel had called it, wasn’t it?

Aristheron massaged the bridge of his nose. “You started a cult.”

“Technically, most of it was Paladius’s and I stole it through superior wit and planning,” Murlesson said.

“Why am I not surprised that you started a cult.”

“I need resources beyond what Zash gives me, Laskaris. And is this not what the Empire strives to do? Give purpose to every citizen?” He tried not to lace his words with too much sarcasm.

“Treat it with care,” Aristheron warned him.

“I will.” Murlesson looked at him, unguarded for once. “They won’t become like me.” And that, at least, he meant.

Aristheron fell back slightly. “That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he said under his breath. Murlesson pretended not to hear, he wasn’t supposed to have heard. He knew what Aristheron had meant, but he couldn’t promise _that_. He wondered how badly he’d damaged his trust, and how long it would take to mend. He _needed_ Aristheron’s alliance. These idyllic days of being unknown apprentices wouldn’t last forever.

He ate dinner with his cult that evening as they celebrated Paladius’s fall; Rylee was enchanted with the crystalline trees, though Destris pointed out – accurately – that they didn’t match the rest of the decor in the shabby renovated office. Murlesson shrugged. They were _their_ trees now, and that was all that mattered. He didn’t know anything about style, anyway. And another cult member had found a prospective buyer for their computer chips, and Murlesson looked into it that evening and approved it. Things were progressing.

He spent another day before returning to the Viper, giving his followers a speech about duty and strength and greater good before he left, stretching his acting muscles in one way a little before returning to the Empire where he had to stretch them very much another way.

He called Zash once on the Viper. “I managed to obtain the artifact from Lord Paladius.”

She smiled approvingly. “And you gained your own cult in the process, or so I hear.” Well, he supposed word of that might get about a little bit. He just hoped it wasn’t Revel who told on him, even if Zash was paying his bills. “Well done! Building your own power from nothing is not easy, and you can credit your cunning for that. But there’s still the artifact on Balmorra to pursue. I’m still trying to locate the other two. I feel I’m close. I fully expect to have good news when you return from Balmorra. But there is no time to rest. Power does not favour the slow.”

“Yes, master,” he said. “I’ll be off at once.”


	7. Tears of the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I get that the whole ‘colicoid serum’ thing (which sounds like it’s going to give you an STD, or maybe tuberculosis, honestly) is supposed to be for Inquisitor players who want to be mad scientists. But this is even more ridiculous than giving us magic rocks. C’mon BioWare!
> 
> Despite all this, there’s a lot of interesting stuff in this chapter that I’m really looking forward to!

Part 7: Tears of the Devil

He stepped out of the spaceport and was met with the smell of smoke. Looking around, one thing was abundantly clear. Whatever Balmorra had been thousands of years ago, the city of Sobrik was a poverty-stricken war-torn Imperial military mudhole today. And his artifact this time was in an untouched Sith sanctum… under a busted toxic waste disposal facility. He glared at the orange-tinted dawn sky in dissatisfaction with his lot.

“What’s that look for?” Aristheron said from beside him. “Yes, we have much work to do, though I fancy I do more than you. Balmorra is part of the Empire, however, and deserves our aid and support.” Sabran Kentalon had disappeared from Nar Shaddaa, so Lord Emment had ordered Aristheron to assist the military in breaking the rebellion on Balmorra, to eliminate its former Minister of War, Vol Argen.

Murlesson transferred his glare sideways. “If you must know, on the flight from Nar Shaddaa I watched all eighty episodes of Lightning Strikes My Heart,” a terrible rom-com set on Dromund Kaas about a really artificially hapless female logistics lieutenant and the handsome fighter pilot captain who was madly in love with her for some reason.

“Ooh, that sounds cool, is it good?” Vany asked.

Aristheron gave him an utterly perplexed look. “But that’s an awful holodrama. I watched half an episode and that was enough. Why would you sacrifice your impulse control for _that_?”

“The holonet suggested that despite the plot-holes and cheap production, it was one of the best shows to understand modern Imperial society quickly,” Murlesson said, hiding a yawn. He didn’t want to admit he’d gotten sucked in and hadn’t slept in 36 hours because of the ‘one more episode’ syndrome. He was glad it was done with; it hadn’t been a total waste of time, if it was even remotely accurate to how ‘normal’ people behaved, but it _had_ been time-consuming, and the behaviour demonstrated had been occasionally painfully stupid. He needed time to digest it now, and it was well that he had a mission to focus on.

That, and he’d felt tremours in the Force that he really didn’t want to listen to.

“I better watch it then,” Vany mumbled to herself. “Lightning Strikes My Heart, huh?”

Revel chuckled. “More like Lightning Strikes My Ass. But if you want to rot your brain with that shmoopy lovey-dovey nonsense, go right ahead.”

“Ooh, sounds right up my alley,” Vany said, grinning at Revel.

< _Do Sith these days really waste their time with such foolishness?_ > Khem grumbled. < _There is no need to understand the masses, only to rule them._ > Murlesson ignored him.

“I’m going to check in with Captain Rigel,” Aristheron said, shaking his head at Murlesson’s foolishness – or maybe Vany’s. “I believe your Major Bessiker will be over in Requisition, on your left. I’m sure I will see you later.”

Murlesson saw him off with a wave, and headed over the clearly-marked building. Inside, there was a human man, a little shorter than him, with a full beard and no other hair, bustling about from one side of the room to another, juggling datapads. His spirit was dim but cheerful.

Murlesson watched him for a few moments, wondering if this were another caricature from a holodrama. Maybe he was _in_ a holodrama right now. It would make sense with how disconnected he felt from reality these days. Eventually, having seen that the man was not going to notice him without further encouragement, he cleared his throat.

Immediately the man spun, nearly dropping one of his datapads. “Ah, who’s this… A Sith? And an alien at that! It’s a real pleasure. I have a son on Korriban, you know. I’m Major Bessiker, and you must be Apprentice Murlesson.”

Murlesson really didn’t care if he had relatives on Coruscant, let alone Korriban, but nodded politely, wondering how much he should ‘act’ through this encounter.

“It’s a tough war you’re walking into – we’re fixing blasters with adhesive tape – but we’ll help you any way we can,” Bessiker continued energetically. “Darth Zash mentioned you’d be coming, and sent me as much data as she had on your objective. Not that I’ve had time to really review it properly, with all the immediate work around here! Now, let’s see… a blown open vault, hmm? Captain Ilun, do we still have those pumps…?”

A thinner, rather elegant-looking man had been working more quietly further back in the office. “Sir, if this is the vault I think it is… it won’t be that easy. The fumes alone have put men in the medical centre with life-threatening complications.”

“Sounds like one of my exes,” Revel muttered.

“Is there anything else we can work with?” Murlesson asked. “Droids, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately, the chemicals’ corrosive qualities also damage any delicate equipment beyond use very rapidly,” said the captain. Well that explained why Zash had said a diving suit wasn’t a good option.

“We need some way to make this pit less deadly,” said Major Bessiker. “Tell me, Captain, is there nothing that can survive the toxic waste?”

“Well… nothing grows there, sir, but… there are the colicoids.”

Murlesson squinted. He’d read about colicoids in his pre-landing study of Balmorra. They sounded like something to be steered clear of, but what if he could control one?

“Colicoids! What do those bugs want with toxic waste?” Bessiker cried.

“Food, sir,” said Captian Ilun. “Our surveillance satellites have recorded them feeding on the toxic waste. We suspect they’ve been designed to eat it.”

“Gross,” said Murlesson, completely deadpan. “Why?”

“It does seem like a strange thing to do. Captain?”

“It’s a guess. The toxic waste resistance may have been an unintended result – or the Balmorran scientists were insane.”

“I personally prefer the term ‘differently rational’, Murlesson said, darkly humourous. Khem shifted in impatience behind him. Andronikos grinned gleefully.

Bessiker didn’t seem to notice he was trying to make a joke. “Well, whatever you call it, it might be just what we need to crack this thing.”

Murlesson frowned at Bessiker. “What are you talking about? Are the colicoids going to eat all the toxic waste and shit it out as slightly less toxic waste for me?”

“What? No, that would take decades, if not centuries, and I imagine you and Darth Zash don’t have that sort of time or patience. I was going to suggest you get yourself the colicoid’s resistance to toxic waste!”

Everyone stared at Bessiker blankly for a few seconds. Then Murlesson turned to Captain Ilun. “And you thought the Balmorran scientists were insane.”

“I thought you preferred the term ‘differently rational’, sir,” Ilun rejoined, which made Murlesson smirk just a little.

“I don’t understand, what’s wrong with that idea?” Bessiker spoke up.

Murlesson rubbed his forehead under his lowest horn. “It’s ridiculous. Before we all lose our grip on reality, let’s try to brainstorm something more feasible.”

“I should mention that we don’t have much budget to go on, even with Darth Zash’s assistance,” Ilun said. “Anything we come up with, we will have to do more or less with existing resources. This means we can’t requisition star-grade probes or nuclear wasteland submarines.”

“Right,” Murlesson said. He wasn’t going to use his cult funds, either – they were still fledgling, they needed every credit they could get. “Can we still scan the area, somehow? Perhaps a sonic mining scan?”

“The area is rather delicate, but a gentle scan shouldn’t trigger any seismic activity,” Bessiker said. “Yes, that’s a good first step. I send someone on it right away.”

“Good,” Murlesson said. “Now, what resources _do_ we have?”

An hour later, and he was no closer to finding a practical solution. He’d been racking his brains over the holocrons he’d absorbed, but while they were long on military strategy and Force philosophy, they were short on practical archaeology into inaccessible locations.

“I really think we should investigate those insects,” Bessiker insisted for the fourth time.

“Dammit, Jerris, I’m an archaeologist, not a mad scientist,” Murlesson said, gripping his fraying patience with both hands, quoting… something.

Bessiker brightened. “You’ve watched Voyage Among the Stars too, then?”

“No,” Murlesson said. “But it’s a common reference on the holonet, it seems.”

“You should watch it! It’s a wonderful fantasy story, even if it _is_ produced by a Republic studio. I think you’d like it very much.”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s half-decent,” Revel said.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Murlesson said. Even if it didn’t help him with modern social behaviour, it would help him get the references people insisted on making all over the place.

Captain Ilun cleared his throat. “Even if we discover what makes the insects immune to the toxicity, there’s no telling we will be able to modify it for human and near-human use. Perhaps there is some other way we can use them?”

“I could…” Murlesson began slowly, “perhaps use the Force to control one.” He’d thought it rather a fanciful idea when he first thought of it, but since no one else was coming up with anything…

“Could you?” asked Bessiker in astonishment. “That’s incredible!”

It sounded a whole lot more credible than ‘find a way to breathe toxic gas and swim in corrosive goop’. “I could use that to scout out the location in more detail than a scan; it may give us some idea of where to go next.”

“Then I will send a team to lure out and capture a colicoid!” Bessiker said. “I know just the man to lead it, too, the most competent man on Balmorra. He’ll be sure to succeed.”

“That sounds promising,” Murlesson said. “How soon can they be ready?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Captain Ilun said. “I’ll compile a list of gear they’ll need and requisition use of two shuttles. They’ll be ready in perhaps an hour. My lord, it is several hours away by shuttle; will you be going with them?”

“Yes, of course,” Murlesson said. “Do you require my presence for anything further, or can I go eat?”

“Oh, go eat!” Major Bessiker urged him. “We’ll take care of everything, dear boy- my lord.”

The leader of the team was a tall, pale human lieutenant who looked far less surprised and confused at being asked to capture a colicoid than Murlesson would have thought; he could only imagine what other ridiculous demands had been made of him in the past, or if he’d been ordered to capture a colicoid before. They didn’t talk much on the flight over, Murlesson keeping to his own corner with Khem at his side, and the lieutenant professionally silent, keeping an eye on his jittery soldiers.

Capturing a colicoid was easier than he’d expected – bait and a force-field cage were all that was required. The stupid bug never knew what happened until it was latched securely to the bottom of the shuttle. It was doused in toxic fumes; none of them would have been able to share a cabin with it.

It was fairly berserk by the time they arrived back in Sobrik, and had probably been trying to escape for some time, smelling its home growing more and more distant. Screeing and flailing in its limited space, it did not take kindly to the slightly larger enclosure Bessiker and Ilun had prepared for it.

“It’s a good thing that in isolation, they’re fairly easy to put down,” Bessiker said, watching it rake the bars with serrated claws. “If it gets out, not much lost.”

Murlesson reached out a hand towards it, feeling his way around its tiny, uncentralized awareness. “Shut up!”

It grew quieter, chittering rather than screeing, withdrawing from the bars. The Imperials gave him a look of awe. He shrugged. It wasn’t what he needed, but it was a start.

He turned, sensing a familiar presence, and saw Aristheron near the back of the group. “Interesting,” he said.

Murlesson shrugged again. “It’s a shot in the dark but it’s all we have right now. How was your day?”

“I’ll be on a mission tomorrow and out of touch. I would ask you along, but…” He nodded towards the colicoid, “it looks like you have other considerations right now.”

“It will take some training and some practice,” Murlesson said. “I will let you know if I have any spare time.”

“You should get some rest, then.” Aristheron looked up at the twilight meaningfully. He’d been awake about 52 hours. “I’m sure we’ll both be very busy for some time to come.”

Training the colicoid to obey him properly was frustratingly difficult – it was incredibly stupid – and training himself to sense through its senses was even more difficult. Add to that that he was having trouble concentrating, trouble sleeping again, and it was a surly young Zabrak two days later who received a summons from Imperial Command on the planet to proceed to Sundari Outpost to the east. Apparently a Sith Lord requested him personally and by name. Who it might be, who might know he was on this planet and care, he didn’t know – Zash would have contacted him personally. It unsettled him and made him grouchier. He took Khem with him and left Andronikos to take care of the Viper and the colicoid.

He met Aristheron at the door to the Command Centre at Sundari Outpost. “So you’ve been called in too, hmm?”

“Indeed,” Aristheron said. “I hope the battle against the rebels goes well in my absence.”

Murlesson was tired and not in the best frame of mind, but he still sensed the presence from upstairs – a strong presence in the Force, one he hadn’t felt since…

“Are you all right?” Aristheron asked. “You look like you’re about to be ill.”

“I’m fine,” Murlesson snapped, helpless black poison rearing in his chest. “Let’s get this over with.” He straightened, putting on a cold, unfeeling face, pulling his Force close about him so it was difficult for others to sense. Aristheron glanced at him, but followed him to the elevator.

They exited the elevator together, and Darth Lachris was there before them, throttling a man in a strange civilian outfit. “Do you know the worst part, Governor?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t…” gasped the governor of Balmorra.

“Exactly,” Lachris said. “You didn’t even own up to your mistakes. That’s why the Dark Council gave this planet to me.”

“Surely he has learned his lesson,” Aristheron said, taking a step forward, apparently not at all bothered by her name-dropping the Dark Council. “There is no need to kill him.”

“On the contrary,” Lachris said. “He is useless now. There is no need to keep him around.”

Murlesson certainly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was surviving the encounter and getting away as soon as possible.

The governor’s body fell to the floor with a thump, and Lachris turned to them – to him, advancing towards him and taking his face in her hands. “Murlesson! That was your name, yes? Apprentice to Darth Zash now, I hear. You’ve done very well for yourself! I’m so proud of you!”

He didn’t answer for a moment, gut churning, heartbeats roaring in his ears, taking a step back out of her reach. “Yes.”

Her orange eyes glittered, her paper-white face still too close to him. “You still hate me. Good. But I’m happy to see you again. With your cleverness, this will surely be a simple mission for you.” She turned to Aristheron. “My apologies. I’m Darth Lachris, and I’ve been tasked with cleansing Balmorra. I’m glad you both came – more Sith can only bring much-needed dignity.”

She explained of a certain supposedly ex-Republic Grand Marshall Cheketta, and how she needed him specifically dead or captured, of how his resistance had fortified the Balmorran Arms Factory into an impregnable stronghold. Murlesson supposed he _could_ crack the stronghold, if he wanted to. But he really didn’t care what the Empire found challenging. He resolved then and there to bring Cheketta to Lachris as appeasement and diversion without touching the Arms Factory at all. She would be disappointed, possibly Aristheron would be disappointed, but the more trouble the Empire had with that place, the better.

How to sell this, how to sell this…

“How shall we go about this?” Aristheron asked him, as they moved to a strategy table back downstairs.

Murlesson hardly glanced at it. “I don’t think we should assault the Arms Factory to obtain Cheketta at all.”

“What?” Aristheron frowned. “How do you intend to deal with it, then?”

“Let me ask you – why would you make an assault on a fortified position while its commander is at home? _I_ don’t intend to be around for the assault at all. All Darth Lachris said she wanted of us was Cheketta, dead or alive, and that is my goal. After that is up to you.” When Aristheron frowned, he added: “I’m _busy_ , getting into a possibly literally inaccessible location. You’re the military man.”

“You ought to be in the military,” Aristheron told him. “Sith command every part of it, and you have a good tactical mind. There’s a place for you there.”

Murlesson grimaced. “I’d rather study artifacts. As I was saying… Cheketta.”

“His name sounds like a kind of cheese,” Vany put in, trying to lighten the tension. It sort of worked.

“Cheketta, then,” Aristheron acquiesced.

Murlesson pivoted smoothly back to the strategy table, steepled his fingers together. “What do we know about him? His tactics? Habits? Possible bait?”

“He’s very loyal to his subordinates,” Aristheron said. “I can obtain records of his actions during the war if you wish to study them; he was a skilled soldier, taking much territory from the Empire. He has his vices, drink, mostly, I’ve heard, but doesn’t indulge while stationed in a warzone.”

“We can use his loyalty, then,” Murlesson said, tapping the strategy table’s profiles computer. It showed him the faces and bios of several of Cheketta’s known staff members. He selected one and bent his head in thought for several minutes. He kept getting sidetracked by anti-Lachris thoughts, but eventually his ideas fell into place and he nodded decisively. “Let’s get one of his subordinates to send him a message asking him away from the Balmorran Arms Factory. He’ll never make it back from his destination.”

“I like it,” Aristheron said. “But how will you get his subordinates to do that?”

“It depends on the subordinate,” Murlesson said, showing him the display.

“Sedoya Senn, Jedi Knight,” Aristheron read. “Never heard of him.”

“Hmm.” Murlesson pressed his fingertips harder against each other. “Jedi are generally well-respected by the other side, aren’t they?”

“Yes, if Senn sent a message to Cheketta, he would respond immediately and without questioning much,” Aristheron said. “Shall we fake a transmission from him?”

“No. Cheketta could call the real Senn back just to confirm – it would be an unusual thing we are asking, isn’t it? Before I forget, how noisy should the actual confrontation be?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aristheron said. “If we can lure him out and strike him with overwhelming force, he should be ours before his reinforcements arrive. Darth Lachris did say she would give us an army; I doubt we’ll need all of it for this particular operation. I would like to take him alive, though. Killing him would make him a martyr – and deprive the Empire of the chance to expose the Republic’s underhanded involvement on this planet.”

“All right,” Murlesson said. “But the Jedi will have to go, if he’s present.”

“Agreed.”

“In that case, we present the Jedi with ‘hard evidence’ of the Republic’s involvement on Balmorra. It doesn’t have to be true, or even stand up to much hard scrutiny. All we have to do is make it difficult to dispose of quietly, and suggest that the Empire’s on the verge of obtaining it, and Cheketta will rush out to deal with it. He’ll have no choice.”

“’All we have to do’,” Aristheron quoted him with slight, aristocratic sarcasm. “Very well. I will direct an engineer to create a virus that innocently leaks what we’ve been able to glean of Cheketta’s funding into a rebel datacentre near Senn’s current location, then assault the datacentre with a token force. When Senn shows up to heroically drive my forces off, he’ll discover every monitor covered in our intel. Then we eliminate him-”

“Not before confirming Cheketta’s position,” Murlesson said. “We want him well within the trap before we spring it.”

Aristheron frowned at him. “When it comes to the battlefield, I _do_ know something of what I’m doing.”

“Sorry,” Murlesson muttered. “I won’t interrupt.”

“I was going to say, then we capture Cheketta and eliminate Senn. Not a bad day’s work. You are coming for the actual mission, of course?”

“Yes, of course,” Murlesson said. “You _might_ need the back-up.”

It was good to be working with Aristheron; except for Lachris, the other Imperials barely took notice of him. Probably their anthropocentric bias working in his favour. Oh, if he wanted to make them do something for him, they’d jump right to it – but they’d instinctively respect Aristheron more than him. For now, that was what he wanted.

They set off a few hours later, the virus safely in the hands of an engineer, the ‘token force’ in easily tracked land vehicles and the ‘overwhelming force’ standing by in shuttles. Murlesson and Aristheron were in the command shuttle with Vany and Khem, alone. If the rest of the plan went according to schedule, they’d advance on the target location once Cheketta was confirmed to have left the Arms Factory. If it didn’t… they’d abort and try something else.

“Now that we’re out of there, what’s your relationship with that woman?” Aristheron asked, once they were well in the air.

“Yeah, how many Sith Lord moms do you have?” Vany asked. “You don’t seem to like this one much. The other one’s nicer.”

Murlesson bristled. “None of your business.”

Aristheron’s eyes flashed, and Murlesson knew he’d been pushing his patience for some time. “Why not?”

Was that Sith nobility’s arrogance showing through? Did he feel Murlesson owed him a debt for everything? Well, he did owe him a debt, but that didn’t mean he could just ask about whatever he wanted-!

Aristheron sighed with politely restrained irritation. “Murlesson. I’m not asking to make you angry. I’m asking because I’m concerned for you. Can you believe that?”

Murlesson slowly let the tension drain from his shoulders. He could feel Aristheron’s Light side glimmering through the neutral shadow that covered him. “I… can believe it. And I realize I am indebted to you for a great many things-”

“No,” Aristheron interrupted. “Did watching that holodrama trash teach you nothing? I am indebted to you for other things. It’s what… friends do for each other.”

Murlesson stopped and stared at Aristheron. “I-… we’re friends?”

“Oooh, he said the f-word!” Vany teased under her breath.

“Did you think we were not?” Aristheron asked, brow creased.

“I didn’t dare hope that you would think of me as such,” Murlesson said, feeling very young and foolish.

Aristheron put a hand on his shoulder, and for once, he didn’t shrug it off. “You still think too low of yourself. You are Sith. You are my equal.”

“And your friend, apparently.” Were Sith not supposed to be strong enough to handle all their problems by themselves? Except they needed minions and allies to be their most effective… Was Aristheron saying that ‘friend’ was an easier, more natural word to use than ally? He might be able to understand that.

“And my friend. So will you not speak about your trouble?”

He looked away, at the floor. “I don’t- I don’t want to talk about her.” If Aristheron found out Murlesson hated her so much, wanted to kill her so much, while she was being useful to the Empire, he would probably be not friends with him anymore.

“I will drop it for now, but you know I am persistent, Murlesson. You must tell me eventually.” The hand left his shoulder, and the Light glimmer darkened to its normal state. “Let us continue, then.”

The first part of the plan went flawlessly, which left Murlesson on edge, wondering when it would all go wrong. _No plan survives contact with the enemy_ , said any number of strategic manuals, not just Naga Sadow. He had to anticipate, but the Force was clouded with the Jedi about.

They stormed out of the shuttles and into the datacentre. “Surrender!” Aristheron cried, upon seeing the Republic forces.

“Never! Death first!” returned Cheketta, a big ugly man in heavy armour, as he had been in the holo Lachris had shown them.

“Not an option!” Aristheron said, and then the smoke grenades and lasers started flying.

Murlesson tried to keep his head down. He’d never been in a fight like this before, and while he’d read about them, actually parsing it in person was terrifying. He kept his lightsaber off, preferring to duck the lasers – keeping a glowing object nearby, though it could deflect blaster fire, would just make him more of a target through the smoke.

Aristheron was right in the thick of things, indomitable as ever, crossing swords with both the Jedi and the Jedi’s padawan. This wasn’t his first time in a close-quarters battle like this, clearly. As Murlesson moved to flank them, he sent strength in the Force to Aristheron, trying to mentally encourage all the Imperial soldiers to fight harder. The Republic soldiers were dwindling fast, thankfully.

Murlesson reached them and swirled his lightsaber, removing the padawan’s leg. The padawan shrieked and fell, and now it was two-to-one against the Jedi, who looked pained, and he hadn’t even been struck yet. Aristheron battered aside the Jedi’s defence, killing him. Murlesson took the opportunity to finish off the padawan. He had served his purpose.

But that left them open to Cheketta, now that there was no friendly fire to discourage him from targeting them with his giant assault cannon, and the big man let loose with a vengeful roar, sending both Murlesson and Aristheron hastily back towards cover. Well, this was going to be a time to practice deflecting blaster bolts, or die. He chose not to die, preferably. His lightsaber spun and hummed in his hands, his conscious brain barely registering what he was doing, the Force doing it all for him.

Aristheron reached out a hand, throwing an office chair at Cheketta; the relentless cannonfire faltered briefly, but that was all the window Aristheron needed, leaping in close and slashing the cannon apart into a smoking wreck. “Surrender.”

“Never,” Cheketta growled.

Murlesson sensed Aristheron was trying not to roll his eyes. “You’re a good soldier and a good man. There is no need for you to die while you can still serve both sides. The Empire isn’t without mercy. We can come to an agreement.” Aristheron pointed his lightsaber at him. “Of course, I can still capture you by force if you like.” To his soldiers, he ordered “Set blasters for stun.”

Cheketta glared, and for a minute he looked like he was going to try and fist-fight the man with a lightsaber. But then the fight seemed to go out of him. “Good fight. You’ve got… well. You’ve got something I don’t have anymore. I surrender.”

Aristheron gestured to the Imperial soldiers. “Take him into custody.”

Murlesson frowned at the grand marshal as he passed by him. There was something off about him… “Aristheron,” he murmured to his friend, “I don’t trust him. He’s not as broken as he sounds.”

“I figured as much,” Aristheron replied. “Perhaps if we held his entire army hostage, his surrender would have been genuine. For now, all we can do is keep our eyes out.”

Murlesson nodded and followed him to the shuttle.

They’d been airborne five minutes when the shuttle banked suddenly, nearly throwing everyone from their seats.

“Report,” Aristheron snapped immediately.

“We’re being fired upon,” said the pilot. “There’s a blockade of combat shuttles and ground-based rocket launchers between us and Sundari Outpost.”

“Can we go around?” Aristheron asked.

“Negative, sir. We’ll have to fight at least the shuttles.”

“My people won’t give up on me,” Cheketta said confidently.

Aristheron glanced at Murlesson. “We’ll be able to deal quickest with the rockets,” Murlesson said. “Leave Khem and Vany to guard Cheketta, send this shuttle on ahead for delivery.”

“Drop Murlesson and me to deal with the rocket launchers, then fight your way through the shuttles,” Aristheron ordered. “Shuttle 3, stay in reserve to pick us up again.”

“Yes, sir.” The shuttle went into a weaving dive, flak from near misses shaking the hull, and the hatch opened when still a ways above the ground.

“Go,” Aristheron said to Murlesson, and together the two Sith jumped from the shuttle, rolling to mitigate the ground’s impact. There was the ground blockade before them. Aristheron was charging, fearless, drawing small arms fire and even a couple rockets away from the Imperial shuttles. Then they were in among the rebel soldiers. Murlesson gritted his teeth, letting Darkness take him, becoming death to those who were trying to kill him.

“This seems almost too easy,” he called to Aristheron.

“Balmorran volunteers, not Republic veterans,” Aristheron replied. “No help for it.”

The last rocket launcher operator fell, bisected through the middle. They were still taking some fire from pistols, but Murlesson looked back towards rebel territory. “Reinforcements coming in.” A dozen more combat shuttles, almost within firing range already.

“I see them,” Aristheron said. “Shuttle 3?”

“Inbound, sir.”

The shuttle landed near to them; Aristheron was closer, sprinting for the rear hatch. Murlesson was a little way behind when the Force screamed at him of _danger_. He turned and flung up a shield in the Force, but the impact of the explosion picked him up and tossed him back a dozen meters. He lost consciousness when he hit the ground.

When he woke, he was alone and it was getting dark. The Imperial shuttles were gone, and the Republic shuttles had passed by, probably picking up their survivors. No one had stopped to check if the Zabrak were still alive or not, which he counted probably a good thing, or he might have woken up in a prison.

He climbed woozily to his feet, and his head swam, black spots appearing briefly in front of his eyes. His ears were ringing. Shouldn’t that have gone away by now? Oh frak-

He vomited, feeling absolutely miserable. At least he was still alive. He’d rather be miserable than dead.

His commlink casing was cracked, and when he tried to turn it on, only got static. There was only one thing to do, then. He began walking in the direction of Sundari Outpost. He’d make it eventually.

An hour later, his limbs were so wobbly he had to sit down. He’d made it that far on sheer willpower, really. But he was feeling ill again. Just to rest his head a few minutes…

Darth Lachris was laughing at him, shrill and derisive. “What a good little boy you are! I’m so proud of you!” He spun, trying to find where she was – she was in front of him, reaching out to touch his face, rubbing her hateful fingers all over his skin. His head hurt more the more she pressed. He struggled, trying to get away, and she laughed some more. He didn’t want to look in her eyes… There was no choice, and they were decaying, rotting, filled with maggots, squirming and wriggling. The maggots turned into flies and flew at him, and he threw up his arms, falling backwards.

When he regained his bearings, he saw he was surrounded by people he knew. Fellow slaves, Nel and Ten and Balea, and newer acquaintances like Aristheron and Vany and Rylee. The swarm of flies flew from one to another, devouring them all. He cried out in terror and protest, and the laughter grew louder… No, this was a dream – no one could just defeat Aristheron, just like that – but even knowing it was a dream just made it darker, made him more unable to move.

Someone ‘shhh’ed the flies, and they died, fading from his vision. Someone was touching his head, and his dream showed him a pair of slim red hands, feminine hands, reaching out to him, but where they touched his head, it didn’t hurt. Everything quieted, and he slept.

He woke to find there was a presence nearby…

He jumped to his feet, only just then registering that someone had put a blanket on him. His body didn’t hurt anymore. A small, red-headed someone, currently crouched over a small self-heating cooking pot, stirring gruel, it looked like. But not just any gruel, his nose told him – this was far better than any slop he’d been served in Netokos’s service.

But the red-head was a Jedi, Light streaming off him – her? – gently. It was a completely different feel from Aristheron’s, but it felt… veiled, as Murlesson’s own did in the Dark, and he shivered as he looked at the harmless-looking human. He didn’t want to know what they could bring to a full-on fight.

Wait, was this Sabran Kentalon? Murlesson’s hand went to his lightsaber before he’d finished thinking about what a bad idea that was.

The red-head sighed, their back still to him. “A pity it would be, to come to blows before we’ve even had breakfast. Might you wait a moment?” Even their voice was light and gender-neutral.

“A-are you Sabran Kentalon?” Murlesson asked, letting his hand fall back to his side.

The human looked up at him with a smile and twinkling violet eyes. “My, what a compliment! I’m afraid I am not. You speak with but a humble rurouni. Sabran is not here right now. It has blue hair, not red.”

“The Rurouni?” A strange wandering Jedi Aristheron had spoken of more than once with some disdain. Powerful, but unwilling to use his power. _His_ power… The Rurouni used gendered pronouns, right? He noted that the Jedi hadn’t asked who _he_ was. Maybe he didn’t care.

“You may call me so if you wish,” the Rurouni said, spooning out gruel into bowls. “Come, have some porridge.”

Wordlessly, Murlesson did as he was told. Could this be his chance…?

The Rurouni ate quietly, comfortably, as if it didn’t bother him to be eating with a Sith, as if it didn’t matter that he’d just taken care of a Sith in the middle of a bombed field, on a planet that hadn’t finished being fought over yet. Murlesson couldn’t help but feel more and more tense in the silence, unable to really enjoy the taste of the ‘porridge’, until he burst out: “Why did you help me?”

“Why not?” said the Jedi, with his mouth full.

“You don’t know anything about me. I’m a Sith. Why would you not…”

“Kill you?” The Rurouni shrugged. “That seems a bit extreme. Yes, you’re like a dark star, smouldering and volatile and bitter. Yes, you killed Sedoya and Marco yesterday. And you’re also a lost, hurt boy in need of healing and rest and breakfast.”

“You’re not afraid that sparing me will be like sparing Exar Kun, who brought waste to the galaxy?”

“Do you want to be like Exar Kun?” asked the Rurouni. Ugh, did he answer every question with another question?

“Naga Sadow is more my style,” Murlesson said, scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last of the porridge. He was trying to push buttons now; the strangely laid-back Jedi wasn’t giving him anything to go on, but he didn’t think he was going to just kill him out of the blue now.

The Rurouni shrugged. “I don’t know too much about either of them, anyway.”

Murlesson frowned at him. “How can you not-” He caught himself. It wasn’t his business if the Jedi didn’t read anything useful or interesting.

“I believe anyone can change,” said the Jedi, and there seemed to be something wistful in him, something Murlesson couldn’t immediately interpret. What, had the Rurouni once been Dark? “Just because you’re angry doesn’t mean you’re megalomaniacal.”

“But I _am_ megalomaniacal,” Murlesson muttered, and the Rurouni laughed.

“It doesn’t make you, quote, ‘evil’, unrepentantly, irredeemably, for the rest of your life. Will that do?”

“Fine.” He hesitated before asking the next question, the one that threatened to make his feelings overflow. The one that made him feel like being irredeemably ‘evil’ for the rest of his life. “Do you know Darth Lachris?”

The Rurouni cast big, curious eyes over at him over his bowl. “I know of her, yes. Are you asking if I’ve met her…?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Murlesson muttered, his hearts pounding just thinking about her. “Are you going to kill her? Is that why you’re here on Balmorra?” There were several reasons a Jedi could be on Balmorra, but… surely a Jedi wouldn’t pass up the chance to take out a high-ranking Sith…?

The human just blinked. “ _Should_ I kill her? I’m not really a fan of killing people.”

“Why not?” Murlesson demanded. He was starting to see why Aristheron didn’t think much of the Rurouni. Yet he had such strength…

“Life is precious,” said the Rurouni, and somehow it didn’t actually sound pretentious. “To a Sith no less than to a slave, to a Talz no less than a Hutt. Why do you want me to kill her?”

“Don’t you know what a monster she is?” Murlesson hissed, wondering if that ‘Sith’ and ‘slave’ comment meant the Rurouni knew who _he_ was.

The Rurouni’s face was sad as he put his empty bowl down. “I know she is cruel, as many Sith are. But that’s no reason to kill her.”

“Isn’t it? To prevent her from being cruel to more people? Isn’t that what you Jedi _do!?_ ”

The Rurouni focused on him, very intently, the affected foolishness finally falling from his eyes. “What has she done to you, young Dark one?”

Murlesson withdrew. It… He… He shouldn’t say too much to the Jedi, should he? Jedi were not to be trusted. Except… since this Jedi seemed weirdly reluctant to just kill Sith, he needed to give him some motivation. “Sh-she… When I tried to escape, she caught me, and she… she killed my friends. My fellow slaves. She destroyed them and told me I didn’t need ‘baggage from my past’.” His voice cracked, and he sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “They didn’t deserve to die.” He was amazed at how genuine his feelings were, as if they were a frozen holo of his feelings back when he’d first been plucked from his old life and forced into his new one.

He turned tortured eyes on the Jedi, letting his anguish and fear leak out into the Force. “That’s why I want her dead. I dream about them, about her. I can’t focus while she’s here. I can’t kill her, or they’ll know it’s me. But you can kill her, you’re strong, I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Please. Please kill her.”

The Rurouni leaned forward towards him. “Why not come with me? It’s clear you hate your life as a Sith. Come with me, learn to be a Jedi – and then you will find peace without anyone having to die.”

What a ridiculous notion. Murlesson scoffed, still in pain. “Would Jedi besides you be so quick to accept someone so deeply in the Dark? Besides, I may not like this life, but I understand it.”

The Rurouni gave him a compassionate look that made him feel disgruntled. “If that is your decision. But think on it. If you change your mind, call for me. I will come.”

Murlesson looked away. If he thought on it, some other Force-user would notice and kill him for treason. “And Lachris?”

“I will think on her.”

He sighed. That was probably the best he was going to get. The Rurouni was probably just being cautious that this wasn’t some sort of trap. And even if there was a small possibility… “Then I’ll tell you what I know.”


	8. An Arrogant Worm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occam’s Razor, bishies!
> 
> Also daddy issues. Damn.

Part 8: An Arrogant Worm

He walked only part of the way back to Sundari before he ran into an Imperial patrol. “Oi! You there!”

“Lord Murlesson!” At least they recognized him. “You’re alive! Lord Aristheron feared the worst!”

“I’m fine,” Murlesson said. “I just got knocked out for a while. Take me back to Sundari Outpost.”

“Right away, sir!”

At Sundari, Aristheron met him with a deliberately cool nod. “Glad to see you made it.”

Murlesson snorted at him. “I hear you were actually worried about me.” Khem was also pretending that he didn’t care, but Murlesson had felt his sense relax by about half upon seeing him. He wondered, if he looked inside Shuttle 1, if he’d see claw marks.

Aristheron grimaced. “Darth Lachris would not authorize a retrieval mission. If you had not returned this morning, I was going to disobey orders with your Dashade.”

“I don’t like her,” Vany whispered.

< _She is proper Sith,_ > Khem said, and Murlesson glared at him.

“Well, I’m grateful for the thought,” he said. “And Cheketta?”

“Imprisoned, for now,” Aristheron said. “We assault the Arms Factory today. But I assume you will be returning to your own task?”

Murlesson nodded. “Sorry. I’m not sticking around to work with _her_. And this is important, I assure you.”

“I believe you,” Aristheron said. “A pity, but best wishes.”

“And to you,” Murlesson said. “May victory come swiftly.”

Aristheron smiled slightly. “Thank you-” His comm was going off. “Hello?”

“Aristheron,” said Lord Emment. Murlesson withdrew slightly. Aristheron didn’t need him spying on his conversation.

At least not until Aristheron said “What!?” quite loudly. “I’m preparing to break the rebel stronghold on Balmorra! You yourself ordered me-”

“And now I’m ordering you to deal with Kentalon before he disappears again. Balmorra is a productive planet, but only a small one. The political ramifications of his involvement are much larger.”

“I would ask that you speak with Darth Lachris before ordering me away _this instant_ ,” Aristheron said. “Does one day make such a difference?”

As his friend disappeared into Darth Lachris’s elevator, Murlesson made himself comfortable against a nearby wall. Might as well wait and see if they’d be taking a shuttle back together.

“Sheesh, that’s gotta sting,” Vany said, coming over to stand by him. “Just when he was all emotionally invested in the battle here, you know?”

“I suppose,” Murlesson said.

“So how _is_ your thing going?” Vany asked. “What kind of artifact are you going after now?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Murlesson said. “Only that it’s in a relatively inaccessible location, and I’m having some trouble figuring out a way in.”

“If _you’re_ having trouble, it must be really hard to get to,” Vany said. “Any way I can help?”

“Unless you can survive swimming in toxic waste, not particularly,” Murlesson said. “I’d have asked, otherwise.” She gave him a smile that he would think of her.

It was only a few minutes before Aristheron returned, a black cloud hovering over him. “No luck?” Murlesson asked.

“Of all the-” Aristheron broke off before saying anything unfortunate. “It seems we are sharing a shuttle.” Murlesson inclined his head, and they set off together for the shuttles to Sobrik.

“Is Kentalon _that_ dangerous?” Murlesson asked curiously.

“It’s not Kentalon so much as its master,” Aristheron said. “Kentalon is only carrying out its master’s orders – much like I am with mine. You’ve heard of Kel Reu Giri?”

“Not yet,” Murlesson said, resolving to research him once he got back to the holonet.

“He could jeopardize thirty percent of the Empire’s dealings with the Hutts. Not that I personally like that we have dealings with the treacherous creatures, but without that much of their support, the Empire will have serious difficulties.” Translation – they’d lose massive amounts of territory. He didn’t care, but he could see why Aristheron did.

“Well, have fun tracking him down,” Murlesson said, when the shuttle landed again.

Aristheron grimaced. “Thank you. I will see you later.”

Major Bessiker welcomed him back warmly, with the news that his son was now on Balmorra. Murlesson didn’t really care, but pretended he did because social grease, right? He was much more interested in getting back to training his colicoid. It would obey him quite exactly now, but seeing through its senses was much more difficult, just from the biological reason that its eyes were not mammalian.

It was strange – even knowing that Lachris was on the same planet as him, even knowing that she knew where he was and had not forgotten him, he could still concentrate now. Perhaps meeting with the Rurouni had changed something in him, whether it was knowing that she was busy, or just the hope that she would be dead soon. It didn’t really matter what it was. Either way… he made more progress more quickly.

It was another couple days before he felt ready to try heading over to the waste site. In the meantime, he’d been productive. He’d even gone to find that colicoid research data that Bessiker wanted, though he really didn’t see what use it was going to be. And he’d received a message from Rylee reporting that the cult was settling well, though she was concerned that Destris might be letting power go to his head too much. Murlesson replied, trying for a ‘wise mentor’ tone as he reassured her and asked her to let him know if anything changed.

They set up their observation tent a short distance away from the buried waste silo, outside the ring of bare ground stripped of life by proximity to the fumes, and unloaded their groomed colicoid nearly on top of it. Murlesson kept a tight hold of its will in the Force, meditating with his eyes half-closed in the tent. The bug advanced on the hole, and clambered in. It was fortunate he didn’t have to control its motion directly, only its intent. _Go to the bottom_ , he could order, and it would skitter down the broken remnants of the spiral ramp inside the silo. There was a deep pool of bright green chemical waste at the bottom; he didn’t want to know how far down it went.

He looked around with interest through its many-prismed eyes. Image resolution into his brain was difficult, but he could still see and interpret patches of light and shadow; close enough. There was a lot of movement around, and he guessed it was from other colicoids. There was a shadow on the wall that looked suspicious, and he ordered the colicoid to investigate.

It was a tunnel, or at least a crack in the silo wall, about a foot across. It was well above the liquid line, so perhaps there would not be chemicals in Tulak Hord’s secret stash? He sent the colicoid in. It was a little terrifying, watching and feeling it squeeze into such a tiny area, but apparently they were both surprisingly flexible and good at digging. In a few minutes it had wriggled through into a larger space and could stand up again.

He almost lost control of it in surprise. It would have been too dark for his mammal eyes to see, but the colicoid saw perfectly – a large cavern with regular patterns and right angles in it. It had to be a Sith shrine! In the middle was something that looked like an altar, with two pillars on either side of it.

Very carefully, keeping a firm grip on his bug, he directed it to move close, to investigate if the artifact could be easily retrieved. None of the other colicoids were following, he noticed, but he didn’t sense active danger from the altar. Anyway, at least if he lost the bug already, he had a much firmer idea on where he needed to go.

The altar was empty, but he could sense, dimly, channels of power between it and the pillars on either side. He was going to have to get down there in person, channel the Dark Side into the pillars, and wait for the altar to open or something.

He didn’t need the bug anymore, did he? It had been nearly a week in development, but it wasn’t like he could take it home, certainly not that it had been redoused in toxic waste. He let go and came out of his trance.

“What did you see?” asked Major Bessiker eagerly.

“There is a Sith shrine down there,” Murlesson said, finding that his forehead was slightly damp with sweat. “But I still must find a way in myself – it needs to be activated in the Force before it will yield its secrets. The good news is that it is not _in_ the toxic waste. Do you have _any_ gas masks that might withstand these fumes?”

“I will see what we can scrounge up,” Bessiker said. “There’s a certain scientist, Iannos Tyrek, who may be able to adapt what we have.”

“But…?” Murlesson said, sensing one coming.

“But he defected to the rebels a month ago. I believe he’s still on planet. It may be easier to simply requisition something based on samples we collect…”

“But far less expedient, and not as cheap,” Murlesson said, standing up and dusting himself off. “Where is this scientist?”

“A camp in the south end of the Markaran Plains. But it’s too dangerous to go alone-”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Murlesson said. Alone, he could be in and out with no one the wiser. “Khem! Revel!”

“Right with you, boss,” Revel drawled.

< _I thirst for the blood of these rebels,_ > Khem said.

“I’d have thought you’d have enough with our recent encounters,” Murlesson said. “Fine, you can be my distraction. Let’s go.”

“But my lord-!” began Bessiker. “They have a tank!”

“They won’t fire on what they won’t see,” Murlesson said. “I’ll be fine. I might even be back in time to meet your son when he returns from his mission.”

“I hope so,” Bessiker said, brightening up. “Very well, then. I’ll get started on prepping the gas mask.”

It was a long trip out, even by speeder bike, and they left them hidden in some rocks about half an hour away from the rebel camp’s coordinates. The camp itself was nestled in the curve of a cliff, which seemed odd to Murlesson – there was a good chance of being attacked from the rear, wasn’t there? Jetpacks and blasters were a thing, after all. Perhaps there were defences on top of the cliff.

In any case, he wasn’t worried about that. His only concern was how to get past the very alert guard on one side of the camp. If he could distract his attention for a moment, he could probably climb the wall. The tank was currently on the other side of the camp entirely, so nothing to worry about from that.

“All right, here’s the plot,” he said to his two henchmen. “Revel, you’re running from a terrible monster and just want to rest a while. Khem, you’re the terrible monster. I don’t need much, just the gate guard not to be watching when I go over the wall. Try not to get shot, or I’ll leave you behind.”

“Sounds fun,” Revel said, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Didn’t know you were into that sort of shit.”

“It won’t be a problem, will it?” Murlesson asked.

“Not at all. I’ve got a dozen alternate backstories and personalities for just this sort of thing. Here I go!”

Murlesson was slightly startled at how well Revel got into character. He hadn’t thought the pirate any good at acting, but he stumbled off with an anxious, weary gait and a hunted look in his eyes. Murlesson grinned. His distraction was in good hands. “Wait two minutes, then show yourself to lend credence to his story,” he ordered, and slunk off towards the wall, pulling anonymity about him as he went, not waiting for Khem’s growl of assent.

A quick Force-enhanced leap, and he grabbed the top of the wall and pulled himself over flat on his belly. There were tents on the other side, and he _was_ in plain view of the whole camp… until he dropped to the ground again inside the wall. Now to find Iannos Tyrek… and his Sith apprentice robes didn’t exactly blend in here. Even warping minds, he couldn’t just ask for his location face-to-face.

But he didn’t have to ask face-to-face. He found a tent occupied by a single individual, and knocked on the tentpost, keeping his face out of sight of the door. “Iannos Tyrek?” Four syllables wouldn’t give his accent away, would it?

“That’s me,” said an absent-minded voice, and Murlesson nearly cheered. First try lucky!

He ripped a hole in the wall of the tent and burst in before the startled scientist. “I need your help.”

Tyrek stared at him, startled and not a little alarmed, and then understanding and anger crossed his face. “Well, well. I should have known Bessiker wouldn’t let me go without a fight. But sending a Sith seems like a bit of overkill. Are you here to kill me, or are you going to torture me first?”

Murlesson grimaced. He didn’t have a lot of time, and he still had to get Tyrek out. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I risked my life to defect to the Republic,” Tyrek sneered. “You think you can scare me into returning? There are fates worse than death – and being an Imperial scientist is one of them.”

For a moment, Murlesson wavered. Tyrek sounded very grimly sincere. “I know worse than that. And right now, I’ll settle for avoiding death.”

“I won’t go back to that place!” Tyrek was starting to get loud, and Murlesson raised a hand to hush him. Tyrek obeyed, probably not wanting to get zapped or stabbed if he didn’t have to. “You don’t know what it’s like! We’re not expected to be men! We’re machines, slaving day in and day out. No intellectual freedom, no creativity… I’m tired of building killing machines. I want to do some good for the galaxy. I can’t go back there.”

“I’m not building a killing machine,” Murlesson said. “All I need is a gas mask that will let me survive the toxic waste fumes of the pits west of the Balmorran Arms Factory.”

Tyrek’s eyes bugged. “That place? You’re mad!”

“Not entirely, but I’m getting impatient,” Murlesson said. He cocked an ear; blaster shots. Khem must be making a nuisance of himself. “Will you come willingly, or do I have to fill your entire being with pain to get you to cooperate?”

“I know better than to trust the promises of a Sith,” Tyrek began. Murlesson raised his hand, and when Tyrek simply glared at him, gave him an instant and crushing migraine. Tyrek groaned and crumbled to the ground, clutching his head.

“Need any more? Shall I turn it up?” Murlesson said.

“D-damn Sith,” Tyrek grunted. “Augh! I’ll do it! If that’s all you want, I’ll do it!”

“Excellent,” Murlesson said, letting up on the pain. “Come with me.”

The shots were coming from the other end of camp; there wasn’t even a guard at the gate. Sloppy of them, but that made his job slightly easier. They’d just walk out. Revel could extract when he felt like it.

Murlesson and Khem returned to Sobrik with the scientist as soon as they could; Revel caught up with them halfway. Bessiker met them at the entrance to the town, directing them with smiles and waves to a building next to Requisitions, where, Murlesson found, a small laboratory had been set up for the purpose of upgrading his promised gas mask. Tyrek, stony-faced, went in and set to work with Captain Ilun assisting him. Murlesson would have watched him, but Bessiker was gesticulating at him as if he wanted to talk.

“What is it?” Murlesson asked, back in Requisitions.

“First of all, congratulations on finding our scientist. If anyone can do it, it’s him. But there’s a problem, and I need your help.”

“What do you need?” Murlesson asked immediately. Bessiker had been very good to him, his foolishness notwithstanding.

Bessiker looked down. “It’s my son. He’s gone after some… ‘holocron’, he called it.”

“Ancient recording devices,” Murlesson filled in. Now that got his attention, like putting cash in front of a Hutt.

“Yes, well… A few minutes ago, I got what I think was a distress call from him. He’s in trouble!”

That was all? “He’s Sith. He can take care of himself.”

Bessiker’s look darkened, though he still didn’t look very threatening. Was it possible for him to look threatening? “Look, I didn’t want to have to do this, but it sounds like I have no choice. This is my _son_ we’re talking about, and if you don’t save him, I’ll destroy your gas mask myself.”

He had not expected this from the mild, jovial officer, but he should have. There really wasn’t anyone to be trusted in the galaxy. “You don’t understand-”

“No, _you_ don’t understand! Don’t you understand a father’s love for his son?”

Murlesson let his lips peel back in a ferocious, bitter grin. “No. I don’t.”

Bessiker looked slightly shocked. “Oh. _Oh_. Oh dear.” But he rallied. “Look, I have pull in important circles and my brother is a high-ranking Sith. You’ll listen if you know what’s good for you.”

“Threatening _me_ now, are you?” Murlesson hissed.

Bessiker continued on, almost hysterically. “All this time, you’ve been running around, communing with bugs, we’ve been fighting a _war_. I’ve been more than happy to help, but not at the expense of my son’s life!”

Murlesson found himself breathing hard, nearly unable to see. He’d never encountered anyone like this, someone who was so obstinate, so infuriating, someone he couldn’t just hurt to coerce him to his will. He turned away and walked to a corner, getting control over himself. What was it Aristheron had said? Something about letting his emotions give him power without letting them control him.

And the really weird thing about Bessiker was, he was fairly gleaming with Light, despite being as Force-sensitive as a brick. His love and concern for his son were overriding any surface anger he was showing. Why would he, when his son hadn’t so much as called him since landing on Balmorra until he was in trouble? No, he really didn’t understand ‘a father’s love’. But he could use it.

Murlesson sighed and dropped his head. “If you’re going to make me feel guilty, I’ll do it.” It might be useful to have Bessiker owe him in the future. And perhaps the son, too, depending how much trouble he was in. And maybe he could snag the holocron in the bargain.

Major Bessiker looked at him rather sadly. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. I like you, I really do. You’re a – a good lad-”

“Save it,” Murlesson said, covering any other emotions he felt with prickliness. “Where is he, before I change my mind?”

“We’ve narrowed the origin of the distress call to an abandoned building near the Republic crater outpost. I’m guessing the Republic’s captured him, which means a lot of fighting to free him. Good luck.”

“Yippee,” Murlesson said, flatly deadpan, and stalked out of Requisitions.

His hearts were still unsteady as he speedered out in the indicated direction, Khem a short way behind him. He didn’t understand why it should hurt so much. It was only some Imperial officer – his esteem was inconsequential to a Sith, and hardly of real value to someone who hated the Empire. So why should it hurt, that Bessiker should love his son enough to threaten him? _He_ wasn’t Bessiker’s son. Why?

His frustration and confusion churned inside him, and he wanted to scream. But he was getting close to the Republic base and it would have not helped him be inconspicuous.

At least, in this state of mind, the Dark Side was well and truly with him. He stormed in, Khem at his side, hardly bothering to disguise himself or be clever. It was reckless, almost suicidal. He didn’t care, nothing mattered right now. If he died, he didn’t care. He didn’t-!

The Republic soldiers fell before him, before Khem, their blood spilling over the rough metal floors. He hardly noticed what was going on around him, fighting like a possessed man down to the cells where he vaguely felt another Sith presence.

He stopped in front of the right cell, looking coldly over the man inside. “So you’re Bessiker’s son. Cozy in here, isn’t it?” He recognized him – Hiran, his name was. A typical, simple-minded Sith at the Academy. He’d been training for several years by the time Murlesson had shown up.

Hiran got to his feet, grinning in satisfaction. “The old man sent you for me, did he? He must have gotten my distress signal. Guess he’s good for something. He kept talking about some Sith he was working with. He didn’t mention you were a filthy alien.”

“He didn’t mention you were an insufferable tool,” Murlesson responded. It seemed Hiran didn’t recognize him. That was to be expected. “Oh wait, I already knew that.”

“Just get me out of here!”

“Why should I?” Murlesson said, pacing in a show of boredom. “Give me one good reason.”

Hiran snarled. “My master’s powerful. I’m sure you’ve heard of him – Lord Esdras. He won’t be happy if I don’t come back alive.”

“Never heard of him.” Which wasn’t quite true, but Lord Esdras was hardly a major player in Sith politics.

“My master sent me here for a holocron the Republic dug up someplace or other.” How very specific. It wasn’t just the bloody holocron that had value, the idiot. Hiran pulled it out of a pocket and waved it at him. “I got the holocron. Now all I have to do is get out of this place.”

Murlesson shrugged. “So what about the holocron?”

“It’s not the holocron itself that’s special, scum,” Hiran said, putting it away again. “The holocron’s a map. It’s supposed to point to a powerful weapon of the Dark Side that’s hidden here on Balmorra. The weapon’s mine if I find it, which I will, now that you’re here to free me.”

“You’re pathetic,” Murlesson said, and went to the door controls. That weapon had better not be the artifact he was after. How to mess with him in the most egregious way possible… “You’re lucky your father’s cute.” Most mammalian species, humans included, didn’t like people suggesting their parents could be sexually attractive. He guessed it was a mechanism to reduce inbreeding.

As expected, Hiran curled his lip in revulsion. “You really are a filthy alien. But looks like you and my old man are two of a kind – both weak.”

“If you got caught by the Republic, what does that make you?” Murlesson muttered.

Hiran pretended not to hear. As the cell door opened, he stretched and walked out. “I’ll be sure to tell him what you did for me. Maybe he’ll reward you.” _Because I certainly won’t_ , the smug tone of his voice said.

In response, Murlesson half-tripped, stumbling into Hiran. “Sorry, might have taken a hit getting your sorry ass out.”

“Get your filthy paws off me,” Hiran growled, grabbing his lightsaber from the head warden’s desk and stomping off.

Murlesson waited until he was gone, then tossed the holocron in the air cheerfully before slipping it into his own pocket. Khem chuckled deep in his throat.

He hadn’t been lying about taking a hit fighting all those soldiers; both he and Khem had two or three blaster burns from grazes or near misses. The longer he sat on his speeder, the more his arm and leg began to burn. Back at Sobrik, he was limping.

Bessiker saw him from outside Requisitions. “The hero of the hour – you’re hurt!”

“How long did it take you to figure that one out?” Murlesson asked, trying to contain the acid.

Bessiker didn’t respond to that, hurrying to him and ushering him in the direction of Medical with a hand on his back. He wanted to shrug it off but he couldn’t find the energy. “Come, come, let’s get you patched up. I heard from my son, I knew you wouldn’t fail me. I’m sorry you were injured!”

“If I died, would you care?” Murlesson said, rather quiet and tired.

Bessiker stopped and looked at him sadly. “Of course I would care! I thought about what you said. You see, my son is the most important person in the galaxy to me, and I would do anything for him. You… don’t have anyone like that, do you?”

Murlesson shook his head. Unexpectedly, in the middle of Sobrik, Bessiker gave him a hug. “I’m truly sorry. I hope you find someone to be like that for you someday. Or perhaps you become that person for someone.”

“It’s fine,” Murlesson grumbled, trying to back out of the hug uncertainly. Bessiker just hugged him more.

“I do care about you, lad. It’s just I care about my son above anything else.”

“Whatever,” Murlesson said, managing to escape the hug.

Bessiker escorted him the rest of the way to Medical and sat with him as a doctor fussed over his arm and leg. “I was actually hoping he’d come back to base so we could catch up, but he said he was busy. Something about only having coordinates to go on. Do you think he’s okay?”

“He’s fine,” Murlesson said. “At least he was when I last saw him.” He felt a little guilty about the holocron in his pocket now. If Hiran ever did poorly enough that his master would kill him, it would hurt Bessiker, and stealing his holocron might contribute to that.

It couldn’t be helped. Hiran was Sith. He, at least, knew the stakes, even if he was stupid and violent. And if he’d truly been set back by losing the holocron, he would have whined to his father by this point.

“Boys will be boys, eh?” Bessiker said. “You’re probably right. How’s your arm feeling now, hey?”

“It’s fine,” Murlesson said. “But we’ll deal with the toxic waste pit tomorrow.” He’d already wasted so much time on this planet, made so many mistakes. He just wanted to get it over with, but he was… very tired.

“Yes, yes, an excellent idea. The mask won’t be ready until tomorrow, anyway. Sleep well!”

Iannos Tyrek handed him the gas mask the next morning. “It will work.”

“That’s all I need,” Murlesson said.

Tyrek glared at him. “Do you know what ‘freedom’ is?”

For just a moment, Murlesson hesitated, the word punching a hole in his uncaring facade. He really didn’t care what happened to Tyrek personally, but… he’d been fighting for his freedom all his life. He’d just deprived someone else of their freedom in order to facilitate his own.

And it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Tyrek was just trying to manipulate him. “I’m going now.”

“Good riddance to you, Sith,” Tyrek snarled. “Hope whatever you’re after is worth it.”

Murlesson shrugged as he left. Tyrek would only keep trying to escape. Maybe he would help him a little, maybe he wouldn’t.

He travelled to the excavation site with his followers and Captain Ilun, who had brought a team with a heavy construction drill. When the captain had protested that opening a new hole in the landscape would just provide more outlet for the fumes, Murlesson noted dryly that the original hole in the waste silo was still unsealed, to which the captain had acquiesced. But Murlesson, with his gas mask, was still going to be the one operating it. In a hazmat suit.

It was a long and tedious process, and the suit was not comfortable, but after an hour, the shaft was dug, and he was aware that poisoned air was flowing upwards around him. He moved the drill away so the Imperials could deal with it, took a securely fastened cable, and began to descend. As he entered the cavern he’d seen only through compound eyes previously, he felt a thrill. No one had been in here, could have been in here, for millennia – probably not since Tulak Hord left his artifact here. If they’d known about it, they wouldn’t have built a toxic waste facility on it. It was considerably plainer than he’d expected, hardly any decorative or narrative carving at all.

He dropped lightly to the floor and heard chittering behind him. Oh good, his pet had come to greet him. Or attack him, from the sense of danger rising from it.

He ducked a slash from serrated claws and reached out to hold it in place. “Go on, get out of here. Go back to your kind.” His voice was muffled by the gas mask, but his will was not, and it turned and slunk back to the tunnel to the toxic waste silo. He was no expert on colicoids, but it didn’t look or feel healthy. He wondered why.

It wasn’t important why. It had served its purpose and all that mattered now was the altar. It was unchanged, even though the fumes were supposedly as corrosive over time as the waste itself. That was a good sign. He touched it; even though his skin didn’t make contact with the stone, he could still feel, stronger than ever, the channels of Darkness where power had once flowed.

He had plenty of that, and snarled wordlessly, letting black venom boil out of him and into the pillars. And there – yes, the altar was opening, revealing a holocron. He seized it and made his way swiftly back up the cable. It wouldn’t do for it to be damaged in anyway.

He exited the shaft and made his way quickly to the changing point, gladly stripping off the hazmat suit and gas mask, then over to the observation site.

“Did you get the thing?” Revel asked.

Murlesson nodded, though he didn’t indicate where he’d stashed it. “Safe and sound. We can finally leave this place.” And get as far away from Lachris as possible. It was good she was probably stuck here for a while, being governor. He knew where she was for now.

“You should check in to medical before you go,” Captain Ilun said. “Better safe than sorry.”

“All right.”

Medical only detained him for an hour, and provided him with a copy of the results, which were that they couldn’t guarantee that there wouldn’t be long-term consequences to his mild exposure to toxic waste, but he wasn’t likely to keel over and die from it in the next thirty or so years. Good enough. With that, he made his way to the spaceport, where he was met by Major Bessiker and Captain Ilun.

“Well, Apprentice Murlesson!” Bessiker said. “Leaving us for good, eh? Got what you came for?”

“Yes,” Murlesson said, still feeling awkward about how emotional things had become the previous day.

Bessiker seemed quite cheerful still. “The Sith are the heart of the Empire, I always say.” And Murlesson vaguely recalled him having said it before, probably about his son. “Anyway, we wanted to see you off – give you a good pat on the back and a little parting gift.”

“Thank you,” Murlesson said, receiving the little parcel from Captain Ilun and opening it right away. It was a brand new medical kit, one of the fancy ones with a generous supply of stims and suppressants. “Y-you shouldn’t have.”

“I’ll miss you, lad,” Bessiker said, and before Murlesson could stop him, gave him another hug. “Safe travels. It was a pleasure working for you – and thanks again for saving my son.”

Murlesson awkwardly tried to sort of return the hug, then suddenly gave up and slumped against Bessiker. “You deserve better from him. You’ve been very good to me for no apparent reason.” He was beginning to partially understand – Bessiker didn’t _mean_ to betray him. It didn’t mean he wasn’t still hurt, for whatever reason. But Hiran’s behaviour towards his own father made him angry, too. Even though it was quite normal for a Sith.

He didn’t actually understand any of it and it made him frustrated.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. He just needs some space for a while.” Bessiker patted him on the back and put him back upright. “You take care, all right?”

“You too,” Murlesson mumbled, and turned away, towards the Viper.

He was distant when he called Zash, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Ah, you have the next artifact? Wonderful! I hope Major Bessiker was a good help.”

“He was,” Murlesson said.

“I’m heading to Tatooine right now, searching for the fourth. It appears the fifth is on Alderaan. I’ll send you the file on what I know, but right now I must really get back to work. Ta!”

He shut off the holocomm and directed Revel to set a course for Alderaan. That taken care of, he trudged tiredly into his room, setting the med kit in a drawer in his desk and the holocron in a little hidey-hole he’d made by the refresher, behind a loose wall panel. Took his boots off, changed out of his dirty robes into clean ones, and crawled into the nest of pillows he’d made on the floor in lieu of a proper bed. He’d tried the bed that was built into the wall, back when he was first given the Viper, but it felt strange and artificial to him, so he’d dragged the mattress and blankets and pillows off it, putting the bed frame back into the wall, and arranged everything in a pile on the floor in a way that would make the rigidly neat and tidy Empire throw up its hands in shock. But he was more comfortable there than before, and unheard magnitudes more comfortable than when he’d been a slave.

He curled up in a little ball, tired, depressed, unhappy for no particular reason. The Dark Side gave him strength, but he wasn’t using his strength right now. He didn’t know why he felt this way. When he’d been a slave, an acolyte, he didn’t have time or energy to focus on his feelings like this.

It didn’t matter, anyway. He would have more research to do tomorrow, more things to plan. If he was going to survive, to outwit Zash, he was going to have to find out what these artifacts did before all of them were found. And where to go afterwards, probably back to his cult. He could live reasonably comfortably building up a mercantile company, enough that he could eventually go out to find Sith artifacts on his own – and use them to bring down the Empire.

Wouldn’t that be nice… then he wouldn’t have to worry about them again…

He yawned and slept.

“Flesh of my flesh,” said a hollow voice, and he snapped awake. That phrasing meant… “Listen to me.”

He sat up, sleepy and sullen, as the ghost of Lord Kallig entered his room through the closed door. “I cannot linger long. It takes too much out of me to appear here. But I must warn you. Your master, Darth Zash, is plotting something. Whatever it is can mean nothing good for you.”

“No frakking shit,” Murlesson rejoined. “Any specifics, or did you wake me up just to exposit the obvious?”

“Do not become arrogant,” Kallig scolded him. “I have seen Zash making her preparations. She’s taken two new apprentices, a boy named Kaal and a girl named Corrin. She’s been sending them into the Dark Temple – presumably to confirm that I am gone.”

“They’re not useless, then,” Murlesson said. The Temple wasn’t exactly safe, even without Kallig on a rampage.

“I assume they are meant to replace you. I considered killing them, but I heard them speak of Zash and her desire that my chamber be secure for her work.”

“Why your chamber in particular?” Murlesson asked.

Kallig shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps because it is less obvious than the others, because she is less likely to be disturbed in there. But soon enough, Zash herself appeared. She came every day until yesterday, studying the place and performing rituals. You are in danger.”

“What sort of rituals?” Murlesson asked, frowning.

“Minor ones. Preparations for something bigger.”

“To do with those artifacts,” Murlesson said to himself. “I wish I knew…” He sighed. “Wishing won’t make it so. Do you have any _actual_ help for me?”

“I have a gift to aid you, or I would, had it not been stolen at my death. An enterprising Sith Lord on Korriban, Khreusis, has uncovered my old mask and my lightsaber. That mask was very useful to me – it amplified my will, while making me resistant to will-altering Force techniques. It will protect you against Zash’s onslaught. My lightsaber… should be in your hands.”

“The mask sounds fantastic. The lightsaber… it’s just a lightsaber. I’ll grab it if I see it.”

“You must take it!” Kallig stepped furiously towards him, clenching a fist before him. “You are my heir! The heir of Kallig! That lightsaber is a symbol of our power!”

Murlesson snarled, standing up. “But I am not _you_! And I will not be used by you! I’m not here to restore your lost power or glory or whatever! I don’t care about it!”

“Your power comes from being of Kallig!”

“How do you know!?” Murlesson screamed at him. “I don’t belong to _anybody_! My power is mine! My path is mine! Your relation is just a trick of fate! If it even exists!” He stopped and stared, breathing hard. What was wrong with him? One of the few people in the galaxy even remotely willing to help him…

“Boy…” Kallig’s voice was dark.

Murlesson turned away, swallowing whatever chaotic feelings he had left. “I’ll get the lightsaber.”

Kallig regarded him silently for a second. “The Sith Lord’s compound overlooks the tombs. Go. Claim the mask and the lightsaber. Guard yourself.”

“Thank you,” Murlesson said. “I trust you will let me know if anything else develops.”

“I cannot guarantee when I will be able to speak with you again,” Kallig said. “As I said, it is difficult for me to visit you. But I will continue to watch over my chamber in the temple, conserving my energy for when I learn something more.” The icy blue spectre faded away before his eyes.

Was his ancestor the sort of person for him that Bessiker was for his son? Someone who would do anything for him? No, his ancestor was Sith. He wouldn’t do anything so foolish, even if he was dead.

He got up. The floor was cold on his bare feet. Was Revel still awake? It didn’t really matter, he was the boss. “Revel, I have a course change to make.”


	9. A Compendium of Jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Tatooine is the most boring planet for Sith Inquisitor; all you do is meet Andronikos. I already covered that, so there’s nothing of importance left. Alderaan is slightly more interesting, I guess; it’s going to leave Murlesson pretty jaded on the topic of romance if nothing else. So… Aristheron gets more screentime! (I promise this is not actually another Sith Warrior story)
> 
> I just really wanted to get to the Zash showdown asap, is that so bad anyway? D:

Part 9: A Compendium of Jedi

The detour to Korriban was going to take a lot longer than just going straight to Alderaan. He was half-tempted to search for the artifact on Alderaan first and return to Dromund Kaas by way of Korriban, but by then the situation might have changed. He just needed to get back to Alderaan before Zash reached Tattooine, or else she would be suspicious. Which meant that his infiltration had to go flawlessly. And then there was Khem’s request that he might as well take care of at the same time…

By the time he reached Korriban, he had everything he needed planned out. Between his ability to turn minds away from him, and the disguise he’d be acquiring, no one would even know he was there until they noticed the mask missing.

He had Revel drop him off under cover of darkness near the compound, then hiked the rest of the way as the sun slowly rose over the barren desert. He hadn’t missed this place, not in the slightest. At the top of the cliff, he fired his home-made grappling hook. Doors were for people who wanted to make an entrance.

Inside, he made his way straight to the slave quarters. It was deserted, everyone there already about their work. It was smaller than Netokos’s had been, but he still found the laundry and grabbed a slave uniform, putting it on over the light tunic and pants he’d worn for getting in. To make his disguise complete, he could have called Aristheron and asked if Vany’s old slave collar was kicking around, but that would have taken too much time. He wasn’t even sure where Aristheron was in the galaxy.

Moving about after that was quite simple. Pickpocketing access cards, Force-suggesting guards out of his way, he made his way ever deeper into Lord Khreusis’s sanctum. He had to be quick – he wasn’t being the most careful, someone would notice their access card missing sooner or later. But he knew where he was going. It was most unfortunate some construction contractor had messaged the plans of the building to their colleague on the holonet… and even more unfortunate that Rylee had been able to hack into their private messages. If the mask wasn’t on Khreusis’s person, it was in his trophy room next to his private chambers. If he did have it with him, he’d have to improvise something. He probably couldn’t pickpocket it off a Sith Lord, no matter how invisible he made himself in the Force. Definitely not off his face.

He swiped the final access card and slipped into the trophy room, the guards outside staring completely blankly at the wall across from him. He made the cameras inside glitch with static, then shoved convenient artifacts in front of them. Security would notice that pretty quickly, but all he wanted was not to be seen. After all, he had no business in the galaxy to be here. No one would believe he’d come here on the word of a ghost, to recover an heirloom from a long-buried line. And maybe causing a little ruckus that couldn’t be traced back to him would be amusing.

He’d found the lightsaber and had just established that the mask was not among the artifacts stored in that room when he heard the door slide open again. He spun, ready to mind-control whoever came in – it was Khreusis. With the mask on. Well, that was quite reasonable. If he had any idea what it could do, he’d never take it off.

“I thought I sensed someone… quite weak, aren’t you? And here I thought the Sith were above petty burglary. I wonder what your master would think if she knew you were breaking and entering. Or did she, by chance, send you on this little errand?”

“I’m taking full credit for this one,” Murlesson said brazenly. Khreusis wasn’t strong enough to make him freeze up. He could probably take him on. He hadn’t wanted to, dead bodies left a data trail, but he’d find some way to recover.

Khreusis harrumphed. “So I thought. Your master and I hardly see eye to eye, but this isn’t her style. Too much risk of getting caught. Too little reward. It has all the marks of an apprentice.” He shook a finger at Murlesson. “When Darth Thanaton learns of this, you will be punished.”

Murlesson drew himself up and pointed at Khreusis. “That mask is mine by right of inheritance.”

Khreusis laughed, then snarled. “A Zabrak criminal, inherit a Sith Lord’s mask? The only thing you’ll inherit is a slave collar.”

That definitely didn’t set off any triggers in him at all. Khreusis barely had time to draw his lightsaber before Murlesson was upon him, throwing Darkness before him in a disorienting cloud, his ancestor’s lightsaber crackling in his hand. Khreusis seemed unfazed – of course, the mask was protecting him at the moment. He’d have to find some other way to defeat him. Probably by stabbing him multiple times. That sounded good.

If he could. Khreusis was quite good at dueling, he was discovering quickly. He hadn’t been able to properly spar in a while, with Aristheron being so busy. But what he still lacked in finesse, he could make up for in raw, traumatized rage.

And raw, traumatized rage wasn’t going to cut it. Khreusis wasn’t strong enough to paralyze him, but he was no push-over either, driving him back through the room and towards a corner. Murlesson ducked and dodged, lightsaber spinning, the Dark Side trying desperately to keep him alive and uninjured. Khreusis chuckled, low in his throat, and disarmed him, sending the double-bladed saber twirling away across the room, where it struck the wall and shut off. “You disappointed me, boy. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” He raised his own saber.

Murlesson snarled with another useless wave of Force… and pulled, yanking a small, ornate blaster to him. Even as Khreusis began to react, Murlesson fired, once, twice, three times, aiming low.

Khreusis grunted and toppled, his breathing ragged and pained. His lightsaber fell from his limp hand. “Boy-!”

Murlesson scrambled to his feet and shot him in the chest.

He had to take a moment to collect himself, panting harshly. It was done. He considered the blaster. It was very nice, heavy for its size. Would it get back to him if he just took it? He could do with a good hidden emergency ranged weapon. He shoved it in his pocket impulsively.

He retrieved Kallig’s lightsaber, hefting it. It was a little heavier than the one Zash had given him, and far more fine. Jet black with red and gold trim, sleek but practical, it showed no sign of age.

As an experiment, he had to say being fast and sloppy was a lot more stressful and not nearly as satisfying as planning things out to the least detail. If only he’d had more time…

Now for his real objective. He fumbled for the catch on the back of the mask – it was really more like a tight helmet – not even looking at Khreusis’s face. He frowned at the inside of it. Firstly, would his horns fit in it? By chance, had his ancestor had similar placement to his? Oh, the interior had adjustable slots. How convenient. Khreusis had been human, he didn’t need them. Once he put it on, no one would be able to see that he _had_ horns – would be able to tell he was Zabrak at all, if he wore gloves and a scarf.

Secondly, someone else had been wearing it, and that was gross. Hygiene was an odd subject for him, seeing that he’d grown up in filth, then had cleanliness imposed upon him by his former master and then society, while still being expected to deal with filth. If left to his own devices… he’d probably not bother overly much to keep himself clean, but at least it would be his own dirt he was living in, not someone else’s. Well, he’d dealt with worse than a used mask, and he didn’t really have a choice right now. He wiped it with a sleeve and put it on, and walked out of the compound to rendezvous with Khem at the Viper.

Khem led him to a cave a quarter of the way around the planet. “And your former… rival is definitely here?”

< _The signal was genuine,_ > Khem growled. < _He is here._ >

Murlesson shrugged and headed into the cave. There were several presences in there – two Sith, and… another. It felt almost exactly the same as Khem, so much so that he kept reaching out to the Dashade behind him to reassure himself that his servant was still there.

They rounded a corner and came upon a small camp, where they were clearly expected. Another Dashade, supposedly named Veshikk Urk, stood on the edge of the lamplight, flanked by two human Sith. < _Ah, Khem, my proud friend. How long I have waited!_ > It was a little more bluish than Khem, its eyes darker as they flicked over Murlesson. < _I see you have found yourself a pet. It smells weak, but I suppose there is some potential there._ >

Murlesson snorted. The Dashade couldn’t sense him clearly when he cloaked his strength, obviously, and was relying on its judgement of his scrawny physical body. His mistake. “Pet! Not likely.”

Veshikk Urk laughed harshly. < _A slave once more, Khem? It must have been a long fall from glory._ >

“More importantly, how are _you_ still alive?” Murlesson asked, folding his arms. He could feel Khem bristling behind him, getting near a snapping point.

< _Another defiant Sith with delusions of grandeur. But you always were soft, weren’t you, Khem Val? Always favoured, always the best. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you even loved that Sith animal you called a master. And here you are, like to do it again._ >

< _Enough!_ > Khem erupted with a gutteral growl. < _I was not weak. You were weak! A slave to that monster, Ortan Cela._ >

“I don’t like people insulting Khem,” Murlesson put in idly with dark intent behind his words. And he was a little surprised to find that he meant it. Khem had told him in no uncertain terms that as soon as his mental strength outmatched Murlesson’s, he would kill him and take back his freedom. But… the more history he managed to drag out of him, the more interesting he found him. He couldn’t say if Khem’s opinion of him was changing. It probably wasn’t, and it was probably weak of him to care even a little about his monstrous servant. But… Veshikk Urk better watch himself, was all he was saying.

Veshikk Urk bared his teeth. < _What do you intend to do about it, little Sith? I am no slave, not like Khem. These Sith serve_ me. _Ortan Cela was cruel, it’s true. Petty and insignificant. That was the only reason your pitiful master trusted him, and that was his mistake._ >

Khem charged with an angry roar, and Murlesson was beside him.

They dropped out of hyperspace near Alderaan in time to receive a call from Darth Zash.

“Apprentice!” she gushed as soon as she saw him. “I know you are very busy, but I must speak with you. I have just had the most amazing dream, and it concerns you.”

More dreams. More importantly, he could confirm a few things. “Don’t you have other apprentices to talk to?”

She froze for a guilty half-second, probably wondering how he found out, or if that changed whatever schemes she had, before giving him a wide, apologetic smile. “Apprentice, I’m sorryyy. The Dark Council required that I take more apprentices as a sort of… punishment, for my suspected involvement in Skotia’s death. I should have told you myself, but believe me, these others are nothing compared to you.”

He huffed. “As long as I have seniority.” He couldn’t tip her off to his suspicions. Just being a little jealous for attention, like an older sibling long accustomed to being an only child.

“You are irreplaceable, apprentice. But!” She was determined not to be sidetracked away from her silly dreams. “As I said, I just had the most marvellous dream, much like the one in which you pacified the apparition in the Dark Temple. In the dream, I could see the power of the Force coursing through you. Armies of Jedi rose in your path and fell before you. It’s the artifact! It must be! The artifact will give you the power.”

He really wondered if she made them up, sometimes. “Really?”

“Only certain individuals, it seems, are properly attuned to the ritual the artifacts describe. They are the key to fulfilling your destiny. Hence why we must hurry and collect the last ones. Where are you, by the by?”

“I just arrived on Alderaan,” he said. “Sorry, I took a detour to check on my cult.”

She had looked disappointed for a moment, but nodded anyway. “I understand. How are they?”

“I’m going to need to find more space for them soon,” he said. Rylee’s daily updates were very helpful. “They missed me.”

“You keep in close contact even when away, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Sometime I will let you stay for a longer period of time with them, to mould them as you will. But not yet.”

“I know. The artifacts.”

“Yes. Now about Alderaan… It really is a wonderful world. So rich in history! It’s a shame you probably won’t have time to visit the libraries.”

“That’s too bad,” Murlesson said. “I’d like to.”

“I won’t dissuade you, but again… Alderaan is a planet in the throes of civil strife. A usurper sits on the throne and all of Alderaan’s nobles make war.” Sounded chaotic. Sounded great for him. “Your artifact was discovered by the Jedi Order years ago and given to one of Alderaan’s noble houses. I don’t know which one.”

“I guess I’d better start asking, then.”

“House Thul is allied with the Empire. Their young leader, Elana Thul, is eager to help you. Go speak with her first. Hopefully, she will aid you in reclaiming the missing artifact. Have fun!”

He bowed as Zash hung up, then went to check his private messages before he departed… and frowned. There was a new one from Rylee, subject line “ _Worried about Destris_ ”. He tapped it open.

_Destris is getting worse, my lord. His dedication to your cult has become fanatical and destructive. It’s heartbreaking to watch. He’s actually starting forcing people to join the cult now. Yesterday a recruitment talk devolved into violence, with a Quarren. It happened again today, too, even worse than yesterday. It was awful, and the poor Shistavanen is in no shape to begin actively serving your will. His actions are perverting everything we try to do. This isn’t what you taught us when you first approached us. I’ll have to talk to him, try to reason with him. I know he won’t want to hear what I have to say, so I’m a bit scared. Still, I’ve known him for a long time. He may be in a bad place, but I’m certain I can bring him back. -Rylee Dray_

Murlesson snarled quietly. That thick-headed, short-sighted idiot. He should have known he was going to go on a power trip, from what Rylee had been saying recently. Maybe she could talk him down from his ego-fueled path… but Destris needed more than gently firm words.

He shoved away from the holonet terminal and stormed to the holocomm, putting in the frequency for the cult. Was he the leader of this cult, or wasn’t he? When Rylee answered, she looked scared. “M-master…”

“Put Destris on,” he said softly. “Where is he?”

“He’s out recruiting again… He sent me to answer the comm when it went off… M-master, please, let me deal with him, I’ll make him see…”

“Rylee.”

“Y-yes! But please, master, don’t be too harsh with him! He only wants to serve you…”

“Rylee.”

“G-going!”

When Destris appeared on the holo, he looked a little scared… but also defiant. “Master.”

Murlesson simply stared at him, letting his dark aura seethe a bit. Destris began to sweat a little. “Explain.”

Destris grinned nervously. “Explain what?”

Murlesson slammed his hands against the comm unit, and Destris jumped. So did Rylee, in the background. “Explain why _my_ recruits are joining with injuries!”

“Oh, is that all?” Destris laughed a little, still nervous. “I did what I had to, master. They don’t realize that serving you benefits us all, especially them. So I had to. For their own good.”

“Fool,” Murlesson hissed, low and cutting. “Idiotic, short-sighted fool. I’m disappointed in you. Where do I begin?” He sighed, affecting the gathering of patience. Which he was, in part. Destris’s defensive belligerence was trying. “Let me put it to you in small words so you will understand. When you play too roughly with your toys, they break, and you don’t get new ones.”

Destris started, looking a little shocked. “Master, I don’t think of them as- Is that how you think of us?” He looked hurt.

He deserved it. “No, Destris, but it sounds like you do. You think you can get results through fear and pain? Who do you think you are?”

“I thought… I…”

“You didn’t think,” Murlesson bit out. “You just wanted them to bow down to you. Like you did to Paladius. Is Paladius the sort of person you want wearing our bracelets? Making the Chraemmeft Scukri with us?”

“No, master!”

“Do you think you know better than me? Are you the leader now?” He lifted a hand in vague threat. Destris used fear like a sledgehammer. The subtlety of a feather – a feather that could kill you – was far more effective. And he could feel Destris’s life through the holoprojection. If he really wanted to kill him… he could do it.

Destris felt it, or at least imagined he did, turning pale and shaking. “N-no, master!”

“Then you will _listen_ to me, or I will exile you and make Rylee the sole administrator!”

Both Rylee and Destris flinched. “Rylee?” Destris exclaimed. “She can’t- she doesn’t want to do that!” Rylee nodded in agreement.

He knew that. She couldn’t handle the entire cult by herself. She had the smarts and had rapidly gained the organizational skills, but she didn’t have the presence and leadership to do so. Still, he had to make him think he was serious. “Better her than you, if you don’t fix your behaviour.”

“But I just want-”

“ _I_?” Murlesson inquired idly.

“You _need_ more recruits, master, and they’re better off for it, too! It’s like you said-”

“I think I said something about self-determination, too. Those who _want_ to work, work the hardest. Are the most useful to me. Will be rewarded for their diligence. Those who do not _want_ to work with us… may harbour thoughts of resentment, which can breed treachery. Someday, Destris, the wisdom of joining the ranks of those who serve me will be self-evident to all. Until then, if they reject your telling of my message, that is _your_ problem with communicating, not a problem of strength. I _am_ strong. _You_ make me look weak.”

Destris bowed, finally properly submitting. “Yes, master. I will do my best. Thank you, master.”

Murlesson finally let his expression soften. “I look forward to seeing how things progress from here. Carry on, both of you.”

Rylee was going to have to do some damage control with both the Quarren and the Shistavanen, not to mention any other recently coerced recruits. He’d send her more specific instructions later. And he would have to visit soon, to reassure any doubters that he was the real deal they’d been promised. Maybe squash a few gangs in their area, make them feel safer. He was _their_ monster, after all.

Lady Elana Thul was not the most interesting person he’d ever talked to, but she pointed him in the right direction – to a library. Armed with the knowledge he found there, he just had to infiltrate a stronghold of assassins, who were reputed to have many among them resistant to Force techniques.

Not a problem. He pulled a time-honoured trick for that one, smuggling himself inside via a false-bottomed storage crate with Revel as delivery boy.

Lady Rehanna Rist was not pleased to find him sitting on the bar in her private quarters shortly after. “Congratulations, Sith. You’ve broken into my home, butchered my assassins, and forced your way into my personal chambers.”

He shrugged. “The body count could have been much higher. Fortunately for your people, I was feeling lazy.” He’d only killed the two outside her door.

She snorted and began to stride over to the bar. She truly didn’t feel afraid of him, which was fine. He wasn’t there to make threats. “Can I at least offer you a drink before you start making demands?”

Did she really think he’d accept a drink from the head of a house of assassins? He trusted her invitation as little he’d trusted Paladius’s. “Let’s skip the drink and you can tell me about this holo.” He flicked on a hand-held projector with a little flourish, displaying a still image of a young Nomar Organa with a young Rehanna Rist, both in formal clothes, arm in arm, smiling.

“Well, well,” Lady Rist said, gazing at it haughtily. “You dug that old thing out of some dusty archive in House Alde, I’m sure. I had thought it finally died ten years ago.” She sniffed. “Let’s just say that his royal Jedi-ness Nomar Organa and I are ancient history, and leave that dead dog buried.”

Murlesson slipped off the bar, his hands in his pockets, but his eyes bored into her with focused intent. “Let’s not do that.”

Lady Rist made an exasperated gesture. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.” She poured herself a drink, sipped it, grimaced at the memories. “Nomar and I were in love. I’m sure he’d write it off as misguided youthfulness… but it’s true. We were going to get married, in spite of our families’ disapproval, and then he got cold feet. That’s all.”

He tilted his head in curiosity. “Why have you never married?”

She snorted again. “You think I’m pining for Nomar Organa, is that it?”

“Isn’t that the reason?” he rejoined.

She didn’t deny it. “What does it matter if I do or not? He certainly doesn’t care one whit about me.”

“I wonder,” Murlesson said. “Call. Ask him to meet you, and if he agrees…”

“And if he agrees…” Her mind was difficult to influence, and he had to be subtle about it, but she was walking right down the road he was laying out for her. “No! I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this ludicrous notion.” She sighed. “Still. It would be nice to see him again. But what would I say? What would I do?”

He gave her an artfully soft smile. “You’ll know what to say.” This was straight out of Lightning Strikes My Heart. _Tell them what they want to hear_ , Revel’s words rose in his mind.

Lady Rist huffed. “Fine. I’ll… I’ll call him, and ask him to meet me here. But I’m going with you – for my own safety. I don’t quite trust you.”

That one confused him a little. She didn’t trust… _him_ , to not have lied that Nomar would be willing to meet with her, so she was bringing _him_ to protect her? …What? He must have interpreted it wrong. House Rist, despite their dark reputation, was not allied strongly enough with the Empire that a Jedi would necessarily consider them enemies.

It wasn’t important. Time to feed her another sappy line. “I’m only worried about your happiness.”

“I’ll call him,” she said again, and turned away to a holocomm unit in the wall.

It took several minutes before there was an answer, several minutes of rather awkward dead silence. He could sense her trepidation, her pounding heart – was it healthy for a fifty-year-old woman to be so excited? Eh, it was probably fine.

At last, the holocomm blinked on, and a handsome bearded man appeared on it, clearly looking at a wrist-mounted comm. “Rehanna, what… what a surprise.”

“I know it must be,” Lady Rist said, her voice wavering. “Nomar… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The Jedi smiled. “Go ahead. Anything I can do. Anything at all.”

What a Jedi thing to say. He surely didn’t mean it, even if he thought he did.

Lady Rist hesitated, embarrassed. “Not… not like this. It’s a favour I need, here on Alderaan. I was hoping we could meet.”

The Jedi nodded again, still smiling. “Of course. I can be there in a few hours. The old place?”

“Yes, the old place,” said Lady Rist, her voice full of memories. “Thank you.”

The Jedi bowed, and the comm unit went dead.

“Do you really think he’ll come?” Lady Rist asked, apparently not noticing that he didn’t actually know either of them and was much more poorly equipped to judge Nomar Organa’s actions than she was.

Then again, Jedi were predictable. “I’m sure he will.”

She was all aflutter. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

He smiled reassuringly. “It will turn out all right.”

She actually looked at him properly for once, right through his ‘I’m an unimportant part of the background’ aura. “How would you know? You’re only a boy. You haven’t the life experience to know.”

“True,” he said. There was no point in denying it. “To me it is incredible that your feelings remain after twenty years. On the other hand… some feelings never fade, do they?” He couldn’t imagine ever being able to let go of his hatred for all Sith. This was just… the exact opposite. Or something.

“No, perhaps you do understand, even if you haven’t lived it,” she murmured. “Nomar will always have my affection, no matter what happens. Even if he left me all those years ago… he’s still the most wonderful man in the galaxy. His fundamental being, what I fell in love with, hasn’t changed.” She glanced at him slyly. “A young man like you, you’ll not want for admirers should you want them, even if you _are_ an alien. Perhaps you’ll find someone among them for whom you feel the same.”

Not likely. He saw women and noticed that they were women, but letting that fact penetrate his consciousness any further than that would be a giant, useless distraction. He gave her an artificially cheerful smile. “Perhaps.”

Nomar Organa had rushed to get to Alderaan, apparently, as he was waiting at the meeting place, pacing as if worried, though his Force sense was difficult to read; confusion and anxiety, mostly. Rehanna Rist dropped her cloaking shield and hurried to meet him, a tremulous smile on her face. “Nomar, I’m surprised you came.”

The Jedi gave her a wistful look. “Despite what you must think of me, Rehanna, I try to be a man of my word. Now, you said you wanted a favour. What can I do for you?”

Lady Rist stammered. “I-I…”

A little nudge might be necessary. “Go on. You can do this, Rehanna.”

Lady Rist took a deep breath. “Nomar, I-”

Organa had spun, probing at the unexpected voice, anger and betrayal flickering in his spirit. “What’s this Sith doing here? Rehanna, you tricked me!”

“No, Nomar! I didn’t trick you. I called you here because we need to talk.”

“Then answer my question,” Organa growled, pointing heatedly at Murlesson. He held his ground, trying to appear calm and unthreatening, to not assume even a defensive stance, though his fight-or-flight instinct was screaming at him. “What is this Sith doing here!?”

What did he have to lose by being honest? It wasn’t like the Jedi would believe him anyway. “I’d like something out of the Organa vault on Elysium.”

Organa gave him a look of righteous anger. “I should strike you down where you stand.”

Lady Rist raised a hand anxiously. “No, Nomar, don’t. If it hadn’t been for this young man, I would never have had the courage to call you.”

“Listen, Rehanna,” Nomar said, turning to her earnestly. “You’ve been deceived. The dark side leeches off of the light like a foul disease. It’s time someone cut this cancer out.” Pfft. He had no need of the Light, and what he currently wanted from it originally belonged to the Dark anyway.

“Nomar!” Lady Rist exclaimed in exasperation. “Will you stop being a Jedi for two seconds and listen to me just once! I love you, Nomar. I’ve never stopped. And I’ve spent the last twenty-three years waiting for you to get some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

Organa blinked, something like nervousness appearing in his brown eyes. “Rehanna, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Was he that dumb? “She loves you, idiot,” Murlesson deadpanned. He’d love to twist the knife a little, make the Jedi feel all the guilt that holodramas said he should feel for abandoning a steadfast affection, but that would probably lead to a fight. If the Jedi wasn’t too dense or ‘at peace’ to realize what he was doing.

“Stay out of this, Sith,” Organa snapped.

“No, Nomar,” Lady Rist said. “He’s right. We got engaged against everyone’s wishes, and you ended it and what’s worse… I still love you.”

Her eyes sought Organa’s, pleading, strong feelings bleeding into the Force around them, but the Jedi turned away. “Rehanna, I don’t know what you expect me to say. I’m a Jedi.”

This was even cheesier than Lightning Strikes My Heart. “Tell her you love her,” Murlesson said, pitching his voice low, in the cadence that everyone seemed to consider romantic.

Organa shook his head, now looking confused. “Neither of you realize what it would mean. There is no room for passion in the light side – in the life of a Jedi.”

“Maybe you need to stop being a Jedi,” Murlesson said gently. Just a little more, and he might be able to get what he wanted without having to fight a full-fledged Jedi…

“Stop being a Jedi?” Organa exclaimed. “I couldn’t…”

Murlesson gave him a naively earnest look. “Do you love her or don’t you?”

“Love her?” Organa said. “I haven’t seen her in twenty- but what am I saying?” He sighed, looking more confused than ever. “I don’t know… maybe I was foolish to think that we could ever forget. I’m so sorry, Rehanna.”

“Shh,” Lady Rist told him, taking a step closer to him, tenderness in her eyes. “Just promise you won’t leave me again.”

Organa grimaced. “I… want to… I can’t make that promise. Not yet. Let’s see how the Jedi Order reacts.” She smiled understandingly.

Murlesson began to shuffle backwards. “I guess I should give you two some space.”

Organa turned to him again, but his intent did not seem hostile. “I don’t really understand it, why you helped us like this. I feel like I should thank you, repay you in some way. You said something about the Elysium vault, yes?”

“There’s a particular artifact of Sith origin that I understand is held there,” Murlesson said. “I’m a student of history, you see…”

“I do see.” Organa reached into his pocket, pulled out a heavy electronic key. “I vowed to protect it from the Sith, but you’re like no Sith I’ve ever met. And I suppose I am no longer a Jedi, so I am released from my vow.”

Murlesson bowed. “I am very grateful.”

Lady Rist beamed at him. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have twenty years of catching up to do.” She took Organa’s hand and they walked off together, peace and happiness and just a little uncertainty radiating off them.

Elysium was a strange, ancient, towering structure in the middle of a large valley. There was a landing platform nearby with a special shuttle to reach the otherwise-inaccessible top; Elana Thul had arranged that he should be able to go up. There was a Thul vault up there too, of course, which provided her with an excuse. The shuttle was automated, stationed at the top of Elysium and called down when summoned with the appropriate clearance.

He was a little unpleasantly surprised to see Nomar Organa waiting for him at the shuttle pad. “Surprised to find me here, Sith? Don’t be. That was a nice trick you played back there, but like I said, there’s no room for passion in a Jedi’s heart.” He smiled a little, clearly very satisfied with himself. “I simply indulged your game until I was better prepared to face you. You will not claim that vile artifact.”

Murlesson crossed his arms, arched an eyebrow. “I can’t believe Lady Rist hasn’t killed you yet.” Maybe she didn’t know. But why else would she let her beloved Jedi leave her side? He was a little angry at himself that he hadn’t detected Organa’s deception.

Organa snorted. “Rehanna is a smart woman. And out of the influence of your forked tongue, she was open to reason.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that idiom,” Murlesson said. “My tongue is perfectly normal.”

Organa blinked. “How can you- Are you-”

“Kid’s a bit sheltered,” Revel put in. “Don’t hold it against him.”

“For the last time, _don’t_ call me a _kid_ ,” Murlesson growled, and Revel chuckled.

“Can’t help it. You _are_ a kid.” Murlesson huffed.

Organa shook his head. “Never mind! When you manipulate people’s emotions toward your own ends, you only prove the Jedi philosophy. The Jedi are elevated by higher things than emotion – by peace and justice.”

“I have two issues with that,” Murlesson said, glaring at the self-righteous jerk. “First of all, I’d say that your philosophy is too simple – the universe is frakking complicated and you can’t just reduce it with some pretty words – but then again, I’m motivated by an even simpler reason: I’d like to frakking _stay alive_. Do you know how many people are trying to kill me for the crime of _existing_ as a Force-sensitive freak? Which brings me to point two: killing people is inherently violent. I didn’t try to kill you. You want to kill me in the name of peace?”

Organa didn’t seem phased by his outburst. “Yes. If that artifact ends up in Sith hands, there will be no peace. If you will not relent, then I will be forced to kill you.”

Organa probably didn’t even know what the artifact was. Murlesson sighed and shook his head. “Khem Val, what is it you do again?”

He sensed his Dashade’s fierce satisfaction. < _I will devour this Jedi with pleasure, my master_.> He grinned. For once, he relished indulging his monster’s bloodthirst.

Organa drew his lightsaber, setting it in a ready stance. “The darkness cannot hope to stand against the armies of the light!” He charged.

“Typical,” Murlesson managed to say before Organa stabbed into his personal space, forcing him to skip back. Khem stormed in, light on his feet despite his bulk, forcing Organa’s attention away from him. “If I don’t fight back, I wonder what you will do, oh perfect Jedi?”

“You _will_ fight back,” Organa said, redirecting Khem’s blow and stabbing towards him again. “You have no choice, not if your precious life is so important to you. Sith are predictable.”

“You’re right; the guilt it would cause you, while amusing, isn’t worth dying for.” Murlesson spun his saber as it ignited in his hand, moving up beside Khem. Revel aimed, but though he was a good shot and sure not to hit him or Khem, Organa could deflect the beam into potentially uncomfortable places. If they could break his concentration, he would have a better chance of getting through.

Organa struck at him again and again, locking sabers, trying to use his superior weight to crush his guard. “By the way, you’re a colossal hypocrite,” Murlesson ground out. The Jedi didn’t answer, only pressing harder. Probably didn’t want to ‘stoop to his level’ or ‘dignify him with a response’. “You talk about manipulating people’s emotions, but you’re a far worse offender than I am.”

Maybe he was wasting his breath, breath he desperately needed for fighting. He certainly didn’t know what he was talking about from a first-hand experience, only what cold hard logic told him. He definitely didn’t _care_ the way ‘normal’ people ought to. “You tell me I manipulate people’s emotions for my own ends, so what are you doing?”

Khem swung at Organa from the other side; the Jedi disengaged from Murlesson with a Force-blast and turned to deal with Khem. “The Jedi are above emotion,” he repeated. “I will not engage you in frivolous debate.”

He wouldn’t be able to help it. Humans were like that. “She told me she loved you, that she always would, that you were the most wonderful man in the galaxy.” He recovered his footing, slid back into combat range, forcing Organa to divert his attention two ways. “And you just… _talked_ her out of her feelings? Either true love is cheap indeed, or you’re better at manipulating than I am. For your own ends, no less.”

For a moment, Organa’s face flickered, but then he wiped all expression away, no longer listening. “You’re only trying to distract me.” The attacks increased again. Organa’s martial skill and control were becoming quite bothersome.

He’d shout louder, he’d gotten one reaction. “How stupid are you not to know? Even if she agreed to do what _you_ thought was right, you’ve only broken her heart again.”

“You think you know her better than I do? Presumptuous.” Organa threw out his hand, sending Khem skidding away – possibly off the shuttle platform.

They circled each other. Murlesson kept his gaze fixed intently on Organa’s. “People don’t just hope for twenty-three years and then give up. Tell me, did she feel _at peace_ to you?”

“Enough,” Organa barked.

“From her perspective, you’ve only ever acted for yourself! Maybe you should have been more careful with your actions _twenty-three years ago_!” This was hilarious, or would have been if it wasn’t so deadly. Organa was, slowly, losing his cool.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“No. You’re right, I don’t.” Murlesson grinned, twirled his lightsaber. “And I don’t care. But you, my friend, are dead, and that’s all that matters to me.”

The Jedi frowned, snorted, then his eyes widened and he spun, Force-pushing away the grenade Revel had tossed. He completed the spin back towards Murlesson, but he was already under his guard, lightsaber blade slashing across his side… across hidden armour!?

Organa began to smirk, began to counter-slash, a stroke that would take his head off; Murlesson blocked at the last moment, heat from the blade scorching his cheek, singing his hair. He wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long, it was an awkward stance…

Khem’s great blade came down upon Organa’s head, bisecting him down to the sternum. Murlesson winced a little. He preferred stabbing deaths. This was a bit gruesome.

At least Khem was happy; the Dashade chuckled as he followed Murlesson’s long stride to the shuttle call console. There was no reason to linger, and much reason to hurry. If someone found Organa’s body before he got back, things might be awkward.

As the automated shuttle drew closer to the top of Elysium, Murlesson felt a sense of uneasiness grow within him. The trouble and danger were not over; in fact, more was awaiting him up there.

He didn’t have a whole lot of choice but to go forward. Not only because he wanted to get this artifact as soon as possible, or because Nomar Organa’s death could cause problems for him, but mostly because the shuttle was locked on course, and once he arrived it would be too late to turn back. He just needed to get in the vault, find the one trinket he needed, and get out again. It was a good thing the library had also given him a record of what the artifact was: a cube, not a holocron, but a cube of upari and opila crystals, designed to give a user a certain… focus. What that focus was, he wasn’t sure, and the records had not said. He’d need to see it in person, feel how the Force flowed about it, to understand.

He stepped off the shuttle and was met with a scene of recent destruction. Stray lightsaber slashes had left black marks across the white stone walls, and several pieces of equipment were smashed and smoking. “Looks like someone got here before us,” Revel commented. “Sounds like they’re still at it.”

Murlesson jogged forward, into the courtyard at the heart of Elysium. “Did you want some company, Aristheron?”

“Wouldn’t mind,” Aristheron said, not removing his gaze from the two young human Jedi before him. One was definitely a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman, her chest made that clear; the other one…

“Is that the famous Sabran Kentalon?” Murlesson inquired, gazing flatly at the one with shoulder-length blue hair, who smiled pleasantly back. Murlesson disliked it already. “What are you?” he asked, mostly out of curiosity.

“A Jedi,” Sabran answered.

“No, I mean, what’s your gender?”

“Light-side,” Sabran said, that cheerful smile spreading into a grin.

Murlesson gave it an even flatter stare. “What’s in your pants?”

Sabran giggled. “Sparkles!” And as it backflipped away, for a moment it did seem like the air around it was sparkling with tiny flecks of glitter.

The Force-illusion faded. Aristheron sighed. “You tried.”

“That’s incredibly rude, you know,” said the other Jedi, the woman. “It’s none of your business what gender Sabran is. Especially since we’re all trying to kill each other.”

“Indeed,” Aristheron said, moving to attack again. Vany was in a corner, waiting patiently, unable to effectively attack two Jedi. Revel moved to the other corner, to cover if an opportunity to attack presented itself. “Murlesson, their master is already in the vault. I was too late.”

“What do you need in the vault?” Murlesson asked, moving up beside him with Khem.

“I’ll take the newcomer, Sab,” said the woman. “Watch out for the monster.”

“Nothing, but I’d much rather Kel Reu Giri doesn’t get his hands on anything that could cause us trouble.”

Sabran nodded to its partner. “Got it, Jan. Don’t worry about me.”

Murlesson frowned even as he clashed swords with the woman Jedi. “Is that not the Organa vault?”

“It is indeed.”

“I thought Nomar Organa guarded the only key…” A naive fool he was, to think there could only be one key to a treasure vault owned by one of the most powerful families on the planet. “Hmph. Of course.” Kel Reu Giri had better not take the artifact _he_ needed…

“Hey, Sab, I think this newb was planning to steal from the Organa vault,” said his opponent.

“We have our orders, though,” Sabran answered. “And while I thought we could hold off Lord Aristheron, we can’t hold him _and_ Lord Murlesson at the same time.” He wondered if it was worth pointing out he wasn’t a Lord yet.

“Shucks. Leave to fight another day?”

“You know it. What _is_ taking Master so long?” Sabran was smiling just as cheerfully as before, but there was an intensity in its eyes that betrayed its strain.

“I’m right here, Sabran,” said a new voice, and a Duros appeared in the doorway of the vault, holding the very artifact he had come for – and some other things, a holocron, a different artifact, they didn’t matter. The Duros’s red eyes passed over him and narrowed slightly, mockingly. “You brought another Sith to help you, Lord Aristheron? How cute.”

Murlesson bristled, trying to stay dead-pan and monotone. “I am not cute. I am deadly.”

“Sorry, saying that just made you more cute,” Jan said, giggling.

“I believe you will regret that, sooner or later,” Aristheron said.

The Duros bowed sardonically, then turned to his apprentices. “Shall we leave these meddling ones?”

Murlesson pointed. “That’s mine! It belongs to the Dark; you have no right to it!”

“Then what was it doing in a Light-allied vault?” asked the Duros in a gravely reasonable tone. “Come, Padawans; let us be off.” He turned to move down another hallway, stashing his treasures in a satchel and closing the vault door behind him.

Murlesson, feeling condescended to, snarled, but Jan and Sabran were still on guard, slowly retreating after their master with their lightsabers up. And in the confined space of the hall… “Aristheron, was there another way in?”

“Yes, he and I both came through that hangar,” Aristheron said. “I do not like him to get away, but I don’t think there is anything we can do to stop him…”

“Hells with it,” Murlesson muttered, as Jan and Sabran bolted for the exit suddenly, and he ran after them.

The Duros was waiting, throwing him back with a frighteningly powerful push in the Force, slamming him into the wall behind. Stunned, he could only groan as the three Jedi disappeared, and he heard the whine of a shuttle engine winding up.


	10. Lord Kallig

Part 10: Lord Kallig

Aristheron crouched over him. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Murlesson grunted, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Question, if I might.”

“Ask.”

“How were you planning to take on all three of them? You were holding your own against the apprentices, but the master…”

“I was a bit reckless this time, it’s true,” Aristheron said, helping him up. “I had thought to be only chasing Sabran. However, it led me here. I am glad of your arrival.”

Murlesson stepped into the other hangar, observing Kel Reu Giri’s rapidly departing craft. “He has the artifact I need. My blade is yours until we stop him.”

“Or at least until you retrieve the artifact, hmm?” Aristheron amber gaze regarded him levelly. “Even allied, it might take us some time to defeat him decisively – years, perhaps. I will not bind you to your impulsive words.”

“Right,” Murlesson said. He really needed to cool his head. Naga Sadow didn’t conquer most of the known galaxy by acting without thinking. “Then let’s find out what he wants with that artifact, and stop him from doing that, at least.”

“That sounds more reasonable,” Aristheron said. “I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about his long-term plans. I have been focusing more on isolating and defeating his apprentices.”

“Leave it to me,” Murlesson said. “Jedi, particularly ones with noisy idealistic apprentices, leave large trails. We’ll learn something.”

Aristheron nodded. “Then let us be off. Vany and I will follow Kel Reu Giri.”

“I’ll keep you informed if you keep me informed.”

They met again a few hours later at Murlesson’s direction; he was unwilling to let the Jedi Master keep the artifact for longer than necessary, particularly when he discovered the Jedi was connected to the planet of Salvara – a Republic-held world, but one with a hidden Sith past. If he let him get away with the artifact, he might never see it again. His artifact wasn’t even the one that he was concerned about, really: the Jedi seemed far more interested in an artifact known as the Weeper. His artifact was, almost certainly, to amplify the effects of the Weeper, though he doubted the Jedi had found the Weeper yet. If he had, he would no longer be on this planet.

Aristheron, meanwhile, had followed the Jedi back to the Rhu Caenus spaceport, and had sent Vany and Revel to reconnoitre. There was a chance the younger Jedi would recognize them, but it was better than Aristheron going himself. “The situation is not favourable,” he said, when Murlesson arrived at the park where he’d gone to wait. “It may be best not to engage them here, but these conditions cannot stand.”

“The situation’s never favourable,” Murlesson retorted. “We are their enemy, and a dangerous enemy, at that. They almost always resort to traps, and think themselves clever for doing so. What sort of situation?”

Aristheron’s gaze darkened. “He’s within the spaceport now, I believe trying to cut us off from our ships. How he entered, I do not know, but he has chosen to surround himself with unacceptable potential collateral damage. He’s bold to venture so deep into Imperial territory, but it’s all the worse for us.”

“So we’re stuck until he gets bored and leaves.” They could wait him out, get the artifact back another day. He wasn’t keen on walking into an encounter with a Jedi Master where his enemy had chosen the terrain.

“That’s not the issue,” Aristheron snapped. “This ‘Jedi’ would hide behind noncombatants – _our_ noncombatants – while seeking not to flee, but to destroy us. I thought them above such dishonourable dealings.”

“You’re certain that’s his plan?”

“I can confirm that,” said a female voice from behind them, and they both spun – how had she snuck up on them? The female Jedi stood there, farther away than they’d expected. She must have thrown her voice in the Force. “I’m not here to fight. I want to talk.”

“What was your name again?” Aristheron asked, wary, but courteous. “Janelle, was it not?”

“Janelle Wouters. Yes. Sorry to startle you, I had to follow your scouts back.”

“What is it you want to talk about?” Murlesson demanded. “If you’re here to demand our surrender to spare the civilians, you can save your breath.” Even if Aristheron cared, he didn’t, and if the Jedi figured out they didn’t care, he wouldn’t be able to hurt them with the civilians – so he’d have no reason to hurt the civilians, which would make Aristheron happy.

“No,” she said. “And I’m not here to talk with you, only with Lord Aristheron.”

“I’m listening,” Aristheron said evenly.

Janelle looked around with an upset look on her face. “What our Master is doing is wrong, very wrong. This isn’t the Jedi way. We ought to be engaging you _away_ from civilian populations – what you’ve been doing since you began hounding us. I don’t get it! You’re more compassionate than our Master! What is that?”

“Honour,” Aristheron said, the grey cloak of his Force sense rippling but not lifting. “Just because I’m a Sith doesn’t mean I’m a ravening beast to be put down.”

“A great many are,” Janelle said. “I think that’s my master’s problem – he’s fought too many of those. But this time he’s gone too far. So – I want to help you! Look, I brought the artifact you want so much.” She tossed it into the air, and quick as a flash, Murlesson caught it in the Force, not taking it, simply holding it steady, suspicious.

“Then what’s to stop us from walking away right now?” he asked. “Why would you do this?”

“My master’s done a terrible thing,” Janelle said. “Even now, he’s rigging the spaceport to explode. Sabran’s been arguing with him, but it’s only one person, and when our Master’s mind is set, it’s difficult to bend it, let alone change it. And Sabran can’t deactivate all the sabotage by itself, but I thought… you might help…”

“That’s a nice story you’ve woven together,” Murlesson said. “Why should we believe you?”

“I brought you your artifact, didn’t I?”

“That means nothing. Your master could retrieve it off my corpse later once we take your bait.”

She whined a little in distress. “I’m telling the truth! Master Giri doesn’t even know I’m here! I swear it!”

“I believe her,” Aristheron said. “She is genuine.”

“Yes! I promise! I just can’t let this happen! I know it’s weird, a Jedi going to Sith for help, and if it was anyone else, I wouldn’t, but… Lord Aristheron, I trust you. You are a true Knight, even if of the Dark.”

Murlesson grimaced inwardly and pulled the artifact to his hand. If they’d been in any other situation, he would have been able to walk away immediately. He’d still rather walk away immediately, there was no guarantee the Jedi would do something so foolish as make a terrorist attack on a spaceport if his targets weren’t even in the area. It might even jeopardize the Republic’s precious cease-fire treaty. But his ship was in the spaceport… and saving civilians would score ‘brownie points’ with Aristheron… and this Jedi seemed pretty ruthless.

“You took a great risk in us,” Aristheron said. “But it will be rewarded. We will aid you, and let you go peaceably once the spaceport is saved.”

Janelle’s eyes went wide and she heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! I didn’t want to go talk to security for help. They’d just try to shoot me. So, what’s the plan? I can probably get Sab to tell us where the sabotage is.”

“It’s still a trap, don’t forget,” Murlesson said. “He’ll happily blow up the building as soon as we enter it, sounds like. And if we manage to hold off the explosion in the Force, then he’ll undoubtedly start stabbing us while we’re distracted.”

“Very true,” Aristheron said. “Very well. Murlesson?”

Murlesson paced, trying to think of the spaceport plan. “Our main objective is to drive him off, not necessarily kill him.”

“I like that,” Janelle said. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but won’t it make it more difficult?”

“I’m not doing it for you,” he said coldly. “I’m not sure we _can_ kill him at this point. We can only make ourselves not worth the effort for him to kill _us_. Therefore: overwhelming force is going to be the theme of the day. It will be difficult, because _he_ doesn’t have to worry about collateral damage and can cause as much of a mess as he likes.”

“Oh gosh,” Janelle said. “And you don’t want to hit your own side, do you?”

“You like to talk, don’t you?” Murlesson told her, and she pouted fiercely but shut up. He didn’t like being interrupted by chatty Jedi. “But we can’t let on to the idea that we have overwhelming force too early… First, we need to neutralize the sabotage. Janelle, Vany, and Revel will aid Sabran in that. If it were me blowing up a building, I’d destroy as many support columns in the subfloor as possible, so start there if we don’t get more intel. And then I’d preferably be as far away as possible; do you know how he plans to avoid the destruction himself? Or damaging his apprentices?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Janelle said. “I guess he was going to rely on his control of the Force to keep us all safe.”

“So he’ll be around, but we can’t count on it to take him out. Naturally. At the same time, one of us will have to sound the fire alarm. I doubt he cares one way or another whether the civilians are present or not, so he will probably not make much move to stop us, though he _will_ know his plan is detected and accelerate accordingly. Aristheron, you rally whatever security forces you can find, and see if we can call for reinforcements from House Thul. I realize that’s simply creating more targets for him, but there does come a point where even a Jedi Master must find it suicidal to continue. I doubt he’ll expose himself easily, so we may have to sweep the building to flush him out. Any droids we have should be in the first line.” He glared at Janelle. “Once you and Sabran are done neutralizing the sabotage, leave.”

“Gladly,” she said.

“Then let’s go. I’ll figure out the rest of the plan on the way.”

They jogged into Rhu Caenus spaceport, into a scene of ordinary orderly confusion, ordinary busy minds. All Imperial spaceports seemed the same on the inside; it was one of their strong points and weaknesses. Murlesson nodded to Janelle, who was supposed to be reaching out to Sabran to find where it was and go and assist it. She nodded back; supposedly she knew where to go. Aristheron was already speaking with a spaceport official, and then a higher-ranking one, arranging for Janelle and their companions access anywhere they needed to go, and organizing security for their attack.

Though he’d said they probably couldn’t kill Giri at this time, he’d really only said that to reassure Janelle. The fact was that they couldn’t hold back. They had to fight to kill, to even have a chance to survive. And if Giri died… it sounded like even Janelle and Sabran wouldn’t be too upset about it.

An enormous crash shattered his senses, and he spun to see a small spaceship shooting at them, tumbling over and over, the pilot radiating blind panic. “Frakking six-eyed son of a Bith!” He flung up his hands, bringing the ship to a shuddering stop in midair, but his fear would only strengthen his control in the Force for so long; it was already weakening…

Aristheron added his strength, and Janelle, and some other random Sith who had happened to be nearby, and together, they held it back as the civilians around them screamed and ran, fear spreading through the crowd like a plague. Even the Imperial troopers and security were looking rather wild-eyed, guns drawn, uncertain where to aim.

And standing before the now-shattered main viewport was the Duros Jedi, Kel Reu Giri, yellow lightsaber drawn and ready. Murlesson flicked a glance at Aristheron; they had the same thought. With a heave, they tossed the spaceship back towards the Jedi Master. “Revel! Go!” Murlesson yelled. They needed whatever sabotage had been done to be undone, _now_. That Giri would be so blatant…

The spaceship seemed to landed and skid in front of Giri for a moment, and then a yellow flash shone through it and it exploded in two halves. Giri stood unmoved in the centre of the fireball. “Civilians out!” Aristheron bellowed, and anyone who hadn’t yet fled began to. “Soldiers, form up! We have a Jedi terrorist to dispose of!”

“I’m with you,” said the other Sith. “Trenal Parga. I’m sure I’ll be more assistance than this flailing alien weakling.” Murlesson rolled his eyes at him, but it wasn’t worth it to pick a fight now.

Aristheron showed no sign of reaction. “Take up position on my left, Parga. Kel Reu Giri! You are alone and outnumbered. Surrender, or I will destroy you.”

The Duros smiled thinly and made no motion. Aristheron signalled for the soldiers to fire. With the first shot, the Jedi exploded into action, sweeping towards their left flank. Blaster bolts ricocheted from his lightsaber like oil in a hot pan, but his face did not change as he reached the line of shaken but defiant soldiers and began to cut through them with ease. Parga howled as he attacked, and Giri knocked him back easily.

“Will we have reinforcements from House Thul?” Murlesson asked as he and Aristheron closed in.

“We will now,” Aristheron answered grimly, waiting a moment – why? Oh, he didn’t want to attack Giri in the back. Whatever. Murlesson was briefly torn; he really ought to seize the opportunity. On the other hand, Parga was struggling, and it would be satisfying to see the Jedi cut him in half. On the other other hand, with an opponent this powerful, it was probably best to kill him now; he could always kill Parga later.

But Aristheron changed his angle, moving in beside Parga to assist – to take over, even. Murlesson sprinted, trying to get behind Giri again. Giri’s Force-sense did not change; he did not seem terribly perturbed to be fighting three Sith at once. And indeed, Murlesson attacked with a spinning slash and found his strike knocked back, even while Aristheron and Parga were unable to break through their opponent’s guard or his concentration.

“Don’t get in my way,” Parga growled to Aristheron and Murlesson, trying to edge Aristheron back out of the centre.

“Don’t lose your head,” Aristheron said coldly, refusing to give ground. “You alone cannot defeat him. We must work together.”

Giri smiled thinly. “Sith, working together as peers? Let this be a calendar date for its rarity.” Already, he’d assumed a better position, moving to where he could see all three of them at once. Every time Murlesson tried to get around him, he moved again. He didn’t seem to be watching any of them in particular, probably feeling more through the Force than through his own senses.

Murlesson, ducking a swing and sweeping vainly at Giri’s legs, wondered if Parga _knew_ how to work together with other Sith in the first place.

“Shut up,” Parga said, pushing again. And pushing, and pushing, full of reckless rage. No doubt Aristheron’s advice had triggered his sensitive Sith pride that couldn’t bear to be corrected even a little. Murlesson slackened his own attack, forcing a pivot, letting Parga think he was winning. “Go be a coward somewhere else!”

Giri swung, and Parga’s body fell, decapitated.

“He _said_ not to lose your head,” Murlesson wanted to say, but didn’t – he thought it was terribly clever, but Aristheron probably wouldn’t appreciate the levity at this moment.

They were better off without him, anyway. “My lords!” called an officer from the upper part of the spaceport. “Reinforcements are here!”

Aristheron glanced at Murlesson, who nodded. They’d pull back and leave the Jedi Master exposed to several dozen blaster rifles…

Giri’s left hand shot out briefly, and the catwalk above shook loose and came tumbling down with a shrieking of distressed metal. Aristheron shouted, and Murlesson reflexively reached out to grab it, stop its fall, save the helpless troopers beneath it. It slowed, just enough that the soldiers could scramble out from under it before it hit the ground.

Not that he’d forgotten about Giri, but he’d put no distance between them before he’d tried to catch the catwalk, and flinched with a yelp as the yellow saber stabbed towards him, his concentration breaking and dropping the catwalk the last few meters. Aristheron knocked him roughly aside, blocking and countering smoothly. Murlesson fell and rolled nimbly, then seized the remains of the catwalk and hurled it at Giri, who knocked it away in the same direction as the burning spaceship.

“You are without honour!” Aristheron cried, the Light in him blazing like a torch as he fought, crimson saber clashing on yellow. “Soldiers, forward!”

“And you are without hope,” said Kel Reu Giri, bringing up a thumbswitch in his off hand and clicking it.

Nothing happened. Murlesson savoured that moment, so rare, when even the Jedi Master realized that his plan had failed catastrophically and his expressionless mask cracked, just a little.

“Master!” cried a voice, and there were Sabran and Janelle, standing near to the spaceport entrance. “Come on, Master, we have to go, we can’t fight this many!”

Giri’s expression darkened just slightly, but then he pushed Aristheron back, knocked Murlesson away, and dashed for the exit where his apprentices beckoned.

“After him,” Aristheron commanded to the soldiers, and turned to restore order to the chaos of the spaceport. “Murlesson, go with them, make sure he doesn’t return. Vany, report.”

The retreating Jedi quickly outstripped the soldiers, and after they turned the corner must have used the Force to confuse their ordinary pursuers, as the soldiers hesitated, looking in every direction, running in every direction, though he could see the Jedi plainly, hurrying down the street. But though he stalked them to the edge of the city, they made it away into the hills.

They went to House Thul to explain what had happened to Elana Thul, then made their way at a leisurely pace back to the spaceport. “I take it you will be returning to Dromund Kaas,” Aristheron said.

“Yes,” Murlesson answered. “I have completed my mission for my master. Now to see what she has in store for me.”

“I wish you luck,” Aristheron said. “I… do you sense that?”

“Wait!” cried a voice, and they turned to see Janelle hurrying up breathlessly.

“What is it now?” Murlesson asked crossly, and she frowned at him.

“Not here to speak with _you!_ Again! Lord Aristheron… I want to go with you!”

Aristheron blinked. “May I ask why?”

She looked sad. “My master… I can’t trust Master Giri. Maybe that’s why the Council assigned Sab and me to study with him, to remind him what it means to be a Jedi, to follow the Light, but… I can’t do it anymore. It’s too frustrating, working for someone who disregards everyone and everything around him in pursuit of his goals, even if he means well in the end. I mean, the ends aren’t justifying the means! Not when our direct adversary, a Sith, is more Light-sided than he is!”

Murlesson narrowed his eyes at her. “You think he is Light-side?”

“I know!” She glared defiantly at him. “I felt it, during the battle, and his actions confirm it.” She clasped her hands together before her. “Sabran’s mind is made up; it will keep trying to sway Master Giri with words. But mine is made up too. I think he needs to be stopped before he can be redeemed, and you’re a far better Master to follow, I’ve seen that much since I arrived on Alderaan.”

“I am… honoured,” Aristheron said, honestly taken aback. “But in the Empire, though we aspire to true freedom, the freedom to be who we truly are, it is not so easy. To survive long enough to gain the power to win such freedom, we must often hide our true feelings. You understand that, yes?”

“Yes.” She nodded fervently. “I’ve been hiding behind masks all my life. Everyone does, don’t they? Especially you. Neither of us can show our Light side while the Dark hates us so. And the Jedi… they often say one thing and then do another, like Master Giri. Even knowing that, though…” She glanced at Murlesson. “You’re Light, but he’s Dark, Dark, Dark. Yet there’s such a strong bond between you. How are you friends?”

Murlesson glared tiredly. “Why don’t I turn him in to my masters for wealth and power? Because I don’t give a frak what side of the Force anyone is as long as they’re not out to get me.”

“Language,” Aristheron said mildly. “Darkness has shaped him, it is a part of him, yet he is a strong and good ally. As you travel with me, you will come to know why.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“May I ask what Giri plans to do next?” Aristheron asked.

“He’s leaving Alderaan, I know that much,” she said. “He’ll probably be going back to Salvara before too long.” Murlesson nodded to himself.

Aristheron frowned. “Salvara?”

“Yeah, he’s an advisor to the governor there,” Janelle said. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, really,” Aristheron said slowly, then turned to Murlesson. “I think I will be returning to Dromund Kaas as well, then. My master… he has done little besides send me here and there to fight while he cowers in the capital and does nothing. All his soothing words ring hollow in my ears. He must explain himself, or I shall go my own way to pursue Giri.”

“Probably shouldn’t say that out loud,” Murlesson said absently. “I know you like a challenge, but don’t make it too difficult to kill him.”

“I said nothing about killing him,” Aristheron answered mildly. “But I will see you in Kaas City then, when all is said and done?”

“Hopefully,” Murlesson said.

“You are welcome to come, then,” Aristheron said to Janelle. “I look forward to working with you.”

“I’m grateful,” Janelle said. “I won’t let you down.”

Vany jumped up and down. “You mean there’s going to be another _girl_ on the ship besides me??”

Janelle laughed, a great big warm friendly delighted laugh. Murlesson had never really heard anything like it before. “Yeah, I guess there is! Were you lonely?”

“Nah.” Vany jerked a thumb at Aristheron. “He’s a great boss to work for. But I mean he’s not interested in, like, girly stuff, you know? Are you into girly stuff? Like clothes and jewellery and stuff.”

“I could be,” Janelle said. “As a Padawan, I never really had the chance to find out!”

Andronikos shook his head. “Glad I’m not shipping about _that_ ship. I much prefer working for a moody teenager.”

Murlesson growled mildly and set off for the Viper.

Cruising away from Alderaan through hyperspace, curled in his pillow nest, he tried to read but found his gaze focusing somewhere far past the words in introspection. He was and always would be alone, and that was how it should be. Letting others in was only opening weaknesses ripe for betrayal, whether wittingly or not – as Lady Rist and Nomar Organa had found out. Sith didn’t make such mistakes.

He _was_ lonely, almost cripplingly so. But he had to push through it. Power was always lonely, he understood that both from what he’d read and what he’d experienced. There were few he could trust at the best of times, and fewer still if his true goals ever became even suspected. And to allow feelings for a woman… One part of him scoffed; most of what he’d seen of relationships came from Lightning Strikes My Heart, and it was at times nauseatingly sappy; a lot of the rest came from holonet gossip and it was ugly. But one part of him… secretly yearned for it. Someone he could hold onto without fearing them, or them afraid of him. And he was curious what a kiss might feel like, what a woman’s body felt like.

The last part of him, the majority of him, knew it was never going to happen. He didn’t go to places where normal, eligible women were; if he did, he didn’t interact with them in a way that would lead to any such development; if he had, they would reject him once they knew anything about him; and none of it could happen anyway, he had an Empire to ruin and a girlfriend would be a huge liability, either for betraying him herself, or for being used as leverage against him. He wouldn’t make _any_ of Nomar Organa’s mistakes. Naga Sadow hadn’t had so much as a liaison – that was recorded, at least.

He rarely indulged in such thoughts anyway, keeping them ruthlessly contained. Not only due to a certain amount of conditioning during his slavery, but because wallowing in his loneliness was counterproductive. Only… seeing Rehanna Rist’s feelings, feeling them bleed with abandon into the Force as they had… dragged him unwilling into these wonderings. And now he couldn’t read, he couldn’t sleep, and it was making him angry in the middle of his depression. He was going to need caf tomorrow. It was time to start planning for his reunion with Zash.

In his sleep-deprived muddle the next morning, he made a comm call to Zash’s office instead of her personal comm by accident the next day, but before he could rectify his mistake, the call went through.

Murlesson frowned, on his guard and trying not to freeze up, at the sudden appearance of Darth Thanaton. The sharp-featured human Sith Lord regarded him with curiosity. “You’re looking for Zash, are you?”

“My mistake,” Murlesson said, bowing. “Forgive me, my lord.” Hitting the right level of obsequiousness with Sith this high in rank was tricky – too fawning, and they’d think him too pathetic to live, with a 15% chance they’d snuff him out immediately; not fawning enough, and they’d take offence with a 75% chance of death.

“No, stay and talk a while,” Thanaton said to him. What he could dimly sense over the comm did not speak to “I believe you know who I am. I’ve waited a long time to meet you. An alien in the Sith ranks is an extremely rare thing.”

“I gathered that ideally, one’s heritage does not matter too much when one is Sith,” Murlesson said, wondering if he were about to get splatted for being an alien slave yet again.

Thanaton shrugged. “I’m not terribly concerned with your origins. The trials on Korriban are an honoured tradition designed to sift out the unworthy. I trust they’ve served their purpose. But about your master. I’m very interested in how this game she’s playing will turn out.”

“You don’t like her, I take it,” Murlesson said boldly. It wasn’t a huge stretch – between Zash’s stunt in arranging for him to assassinate Skotia, and the fact that _no_ Sith liked any other, he would have been more surprised to hear they played dejarik on weekends or something.

Thanaton’s brow furrowed. “Darth Zash is arrogant and reckless. The reckless have a way of defeating themselves in the end. When she finally self-destructs, be careful not to get caught in the blast. A young Sith should not associate himself too closely with a master like Zash.”

Right. He’d get right on that. It wasn’t like he was the cornerstone of whatever plan she had or anything. “A young Sith can’t get very far without a powerful master,” he rejoined, wondering if Thanaton were offering to steal him from Zash.

Apparently not. “You must seek your own way, carve out your own victories. The cult you won on Nar Shaddaa was a good first step, but it is not enough. A Sith cannot live without a _power base_. Good luck.” The holoprojector flickered off.

A power base, hmm? Not a master. Odd. Thanaton was a massive traditionalist, everyone knew that – he had expected him to tout the benefits of a clear hierarchy until the sky fell. A masterless Sith didn’t fit in a hierarchy. There were a few near the top, of course, ruling their own sectors of the Empire, or so embedded in the military they had no apparent interest in leaving it, but he was not nearly powerful enough to be in those categories. Unless… Thanaton saw him as undesirable for some other reason – his race, perhaps, or his nothing origins, despite his words – and wanted to set him up for removal. And yet he had given him good advice, even if he’d known it already.

All in all, he was pretty confused. But he ought to call Zash anyway. On the right channel this time.

“Apprentice!” she beamed. “I’m on my way back to Dromund Kaas right now, with the fourth artifact. How are you with the fifth?”

“I have it in hand,” he said. “I will be at Dromund Kaas in five days.”

“You’ll be there before me, then. Take a day to relax until I get back. I’ll let you know when, and we can get started. Oh, apprentice, I’m so excited!” And she ended the call.

Six days to determine whether he lived or died on the seventh. No pressure.

Who was he kidding? He thrived under pressure. Bring it on.

“Apprentice! So good to see you!” Zash gushed, when they met again. She wore her hood over her head, though they were indoors. Coupled with the terrible ambient lighting everywhere on Dromund Kaas, he found it difficult to see her face, but her eyes appeared the same, glittering in the depths of her hood’s shadow. “How was your trip?”

“It was fine,” he said. “Killed a Jedi.”

“Oh, good for you. Very proud of you. It was Nomar Organa, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “I heard about that. Such marvellous power radiates from you now. Clear, strong. You have truly come into your own. Is that a new lightsaber?”

Would she recognize it if he just showed it to her? He held it out. “I believe it once belonged to a Lord of the Sith.”

“Ahhh, how wonderful! Such craftsmanship, fit for a Lord of the first rank; it’s so old, yet so well-preserved. Fitting for you, both in your new power and your interest in the ancient Sith. And I assume it works as good as new, yes?” He nodded. “Where did you find it?” He shrugged. “Ah, you and your secrets. If it was a tomb, I hope you show me someday. Well, let’s get right to work. Secrecy is vital, so I’ve secured us a nice, out of the way spot for this ritual of Tulak Hord’s. We’re going to that chamber of the Dark Temple where you pacified the apparition.” Her spirit sharpened with anticipation, so he did as well, though he tried not to show it.

“I want to know more,” he said. “What does it do? How does it work?”

“I will tell you everything, apprentice. But not here, not now. I’ll share everything when we get there. Oh, there is one thing… Given the sensitive nature of this ritual, I think it’s best we leave Andronikos with the ship, don’t you think?”

“What about Khem, can I bring Khem? He likes Tulak Hord, remember.”

“How could I forget? Your Dashade is fine, desirable, even, given your bond to him.”

What did that mean? “I understand.”

“Good, then let us go!”

She chatted about this and that on the drive to the Dark Temple, and he did likewise, telling her about the holodrama he’d begun watching on the hyperspace jump between Korriban and Alderaan – not that he mentioned Korriban. But he’d taken Major Bessiker’s recommendation and begun watching Voyage Among the Stars, though he hadn’t had time to binge it like he had Lightning Strikes My Heart. He liked it a lot better, though, or he would after he managed to get through the really schlocky first series. She seemed amused.

As they drew closer, her talk became more businesslike. “On my way back, I arranged for you to receive the title of Lord of the Sith. I hope you realize what an honour and responsibility it is. As a Darth, I answer only to Darth Thanaton who answers to the Dark Council. As a lord, you’re only one step below that, and you tower above many.”

“I hope I live up to the honour,” he said, affecting uncertainty.

She smiled reassuringly. “You’ve already exceeded my greatest hopes and expectations. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Ah, here we are.” She pulled up and parked in the same place as last time. He got out, gazing at it with cold determination. His doom lay before him, one way or another, and whether he rose to meet it or fell before it depended almost entirely on his planning and his power.

They progressed without incident into the innermost chamber. He was tense, a hand always in his pocket, but she seemed tense as well, though she tried to hide it. He knew her too well. And that meant she knew him, too. Well, for him _not_ to suspect anything would make him rankly stupid, and she knew he was not. She directed him to help her set up the artifacts around the chamber, in specific places, and though he felt fear twisting in his gut the whole time, nothing appeared to happen yet.

The making of an artifact was not an easy thing; to imbue an inanimate dead object with any sort of trace of the ambient energy field of universal life, either it had to have had a strong connection with a living sentient, or many Force rituals to coerce the Force to hang about it, especially to give it a specific power. The Sith Lords of the past seemed to have been able to do it all over the place; the Sith Lords of the present struggled, when they tried at all, to create even one half as effective.

A Sith could certainly use an artifact alone, as a direct weapon, as Paladius had tried to. But in a ritual, the placement of artifacts together with their properties could direct the flow of the Force to accomplish things not possible simply by one being alone. That was undoubtedly what Zash had been doing in this chamber before she went to Tattooine; establishing channels for the Force to flow more strongly through when she began the main ritual. He felt for them now, noted there were two focii in the room. He’d have to casually stay away from them unless – until ordered, and then… things would come to a head then.

The artifacts, placed, Zash turned away from him with an air of gravity. “Before we get distracted by anything else, there is something I must confess to you. I have not been completely honest with you. I wish I could have been, but the timing was not right.” He watched her with a look of skepticism. With her back to him and her hood up, he had no idea what her expression was. He was more tense than ever.

But then she put back her hood and turned to face him, and he started with genuine surprise. “Look at me, apprentice. I am sorry to have concealed it from you for so long… but it was such a pleasant vanity to share in your youth.” He stared, unable to hide his shock – instead of the vivacious blonde he’d been working with, he saw now an old crone, withered, white-haired, with deep-sunken wrinkled cheeks. She looked like she was three _centuries_ old, not three decades like before.

“I-I don’t understand,” he stammered, and yet everything was falling into place in his head. The artifact that facilitated manipulation of someone’s connection to the Force, the one that increased focus, the one that increased perception of others’ consciousness – and whatever the other two did – he’d believed that they would allow Zash to steal his life-Force and add it to her own, granting her power maybe sort of on a level nearing Tulak Hord. But no. It was far, far worse.

“Listen, Murlesson,” she said. “Various Force rituals and illusions have helped me maintain my appearance and some of my vitality. But inevitably, life fades. I’m dying, Murlesson. My will, my intellect, my spirit are as lively as ever, but this body is dying.”

“I had thought… there were rituals to prolong life…” It was too late to change her plan, but he wondered why she hadn’t gone for one of those. Unless she’d already tried them and they didn’t work.

She shook her head. “None that I have found. Even what I intend was a long hope. But now, you must be prepared. This ritual will grant you power, but as it ends, you will likely see me collapse before you feel it taking effect.” Her ghastly old face smiled. “Do not panic. Know that this is what I have trained you for, primed you for, from the start.”

She began to step towards him, and he backed up warily – no, he was backing towards one of the focii, he was trapped between her and it. But he no longer bothered to hide his battle-ready stance, his fear and hostility. “Be more specific, or I’m leaving.” Confirm for him what he already guessed strongly.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling sweetly, wrinkled lips stretching. “I imagine it will be… just like… falling asleep.”

She took another step towards him, almost in his personal space, and he involuntarily stepped back – and found he could not move. Her cold dead eyes blazed with triumph. “Ah, we will accomplish so much once I am in command of that wonderful vessel of yours! Just hold still.”

He couldn’t move – at least one of the artifacts in the room was inhibiting his body, giving her will a powerful suggestion over it. Khem roared and drew his broadsword, raising it to attack. She spun and tossed the Dashade back with a crack of lightning.

That was enough. He slammed his mask on his head, barely conscious of his movements outside of the black hatred that exploded through him. “Zash!” His lightsaber buzzed viciously as he swung it, and she countered with shocking strength and ferocity.

“What is that!?” she shrieked as they battled. “Where did you get it? That’s not fair!”

“You’re one to speak of fairness?” he yelled back. He was very nearly her equal, though he couldn’t tell how much aid either of them was getting from their artifacts. “You’re about to take _everything_ from me without even the dignity of murdering me!”

“I am _giving_ you everything-!”

“Shut up! I don’t want _you_!”

“But what is that?” Even in a battle to the death, she couldn’t contain her curiosity.

His snarl was invisible behind the mask. “It’s the mask of my ancestor, whose body lies here in this chamber! You know why you can’t control me? Because _I_ am _Murlesson Kallig_ and I will _live_!”

She drew back a moment with a soft gasp and he seized the initiative, but couldn’t break her guard though she was distracted. “ _Kallig_? No… Not Kallig- _that’s_ who lies buried here? Ah!”

“So you have heard of him…”

“Only once, but that once was enough. But now I know what that is, and I know how to get you to cooperate.” Frak. Shouldn’t have gloated. He slashed at her repeatedly, his double-blade swinging end over end, her violet double-blade twisting to meet it again and again and again.

And then – he wasn’t sure what happened – somehow their lightsabers became tangled, his own whipping out of his hand and slashing through the left temple of the mask, scoring through it nearly to his skin before both lightsabers were flung away to the far end of the room.. The heat cracked the rest of it, a large chunk falling away, taking with it a large part of his shielding. Without missing a beat, he turned to the Force, blasting at her, but she guarded herself quickly.

“You can’t stop this ritual from happening!” she screamed, pushing him back bodily. With the mask cracked, he could only rely on his own strength to keep her out – no, to defeat her. The moment he switched to defensive thinking, he was lost. He could feel her presence, beating on his mind, and pushed back with a furious yell. They were balanced, his raw strength a match so far for her experienced power, but the longer he lingered here, the more he felt the weight of the artifacts, even if he wasn’t in the right spot. He strained, tendons standing out on his hands, his shoulders, his neck, the full force of the Darkness within him howling to survive.

There was a thunderous growl and the hulking form of the Dashade flung itself between them, attacking Zash yet again. There was a vast rush of wind, like an invisible explosion, and they were all tossed in separate directions.

Murlesson picked himself up first, dazed, definitely bruised, wincing as he stood and looked around. Both Zash and Khem Val were lying still. “K-Khem…? Khem! Answer me!” His voice cracked in the sudden stillness, the ominous deathly quiet of the tomb. But though there had been that explosion, that had only been the ritual running amock; there had been no great rush of life energy like when Skotia or Paladius had died. He didn’t trust it. The Force told him little, only that there was far less energy in the room than there had been a moment ago.

It was Khem’s body that answered him, stirring and then climbing to his feet, but it was not Khem’s voice that spoke – in Basic, no less. “ _Apprentice! What have you done to me?_ ” He backed away with a jump as Khem staggered, looking down at himself, and letting out an oddly feminine wail of despair. “ _Why couldn’t you just hold still for a few moments longer? Why couldn’t you call your monster off?_ ”

“What?” Murlesson asked flatly. “…Zash?” Frakking what?

Zash-Khem pointed at him accusingly. “ _That monster broke through my defences, interrupted my concentration, diverted the entire ritual. Five years of preparation, finding the right person, training them, researching the artifacts, gathering them – wasted! You were my legacy, my one chance to defeat death! You fool – you’ve ruined everything?_ ”

“You didn’t expect him to just sit around and do nothing, did you?” Murlesson bickered. “And you said I could bring him. Encouraged me to, even.” He shrugged. “You wonder why I want to keep my body? Are you stupid? I knew what you were planning.”

“ _You think you’re clever,_ ” Zash snapped. “ _Well, this beast’s body is quite powerful. Powerful enough to punish you for your rebellion!_ ”

He raised himself to his full height with some regality. “The Dashade is bound to me, and now, so are you.”

Zash-Khem raised a fist, but dropped it again. “ _That bond, that damn bond! How can your will be stronger than my own? I am the master, not you!_ ”

Murlesson grinned mirthlessly. “Not. Anymore.”

Zash-Khem wailed once again, before twitching oddly and returning to a more familiar stance with a bark. < _Ha! What new kink has insinuated itself into the twisted coils of my unfortunate existence? First Tulak Hord abandons me to this meager creature, and now – it is as if my body is no longer my own._ >

Murlesson tilted his head. “Is that you, my morose monster?”

Khem grunted and shook himself. < _Last I remember, I was attacking the female Darth when I felt this force, like something trying to drive me from my body. It was not my Mistress Death, but another. So I resisted the force’s pull, and then a darkness came over me. Tell me, master: what is going on?_ >

“It seems Zash went into your body, but you didn’t leave,” Murlesson said.

< _What…? No. No!_ >

“Protest all you like, Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, but your ancient master’s artifacts have been turned against you. And through some strange and miraculous trick, neither you nor Zash have full control.” Murlesson turned, both a little relieved and rather apprehensive. Lord Kallig’s spirit had appeared by them, glimmering faintly in the dim light. Khem grumbled but fell silent.

“Where were you when everything went sideways a few minutes ago?” he asked crossly, hoping his ancestor wouldn’t be too displeased about the destruction of his mask.

“I have been watching from the shadows all along, powerless to help,” said Kallig. “But it’s clear – my help was not necessary. Though you were careless with my mask. Your youth and inexperience are no excuse; you may need every tool at your disposal to navigate your future.”

“I know,” Murlesson said. What else was there to say? It had happened so quickly. He needed more lightsaber practice, clearly. It wouldn’t do to be disarmed like that again. If only he had someone to spar with on his own ship… He wondered if the mask could be mended, its power restored. He’d certainly try.

Kallig spread his arms. “But I am proud of you. Flesh of my flesh, you have defeated your master. The great danger that I feared is past, your rise to glory well begun. I don’t know whether we will chance to meet again on this side of death, but I am at peace. I came to say goodbye, and good luck.”

“I’ll… see you around, then,” Murlesson said awkwardly.

Kallig nodded, removing his mask, letting Murlesson see his true face once more. “You are Lord Kallig now. It was once a glorious name. Use it well.” He bowed slightly, then faded into nothingness.

He had claimed that name, hadn’t he, in the heat of the moment? He probably didn’t _need_ it. But… somehow… it felt good to have it.

He turned to leave and paused. Voices were muttering in the corridor, mortal voices, attached to acolyte-level Sith auras. What were the names of her new apprentices? Corrin and Kaal, wasn’t it? They stepped into the chamber and froze, taking everything in: Murlesson in his cracked mask, Khem standing dourly by his side, and Zash’s motionless body. The girl pointed. “Look, Kaal!”

The boy – why was he calling them a girl and a boy? They were probably older than him. But not as strong. The boy rushed to Zash’s body. “Darth Zash! You… you murdered her!” He turned, grabbing his lightsaber, raising it threateningly.

Murlesson didn’t even move. Kaal wouldn’t be a fight. “That’s a fairly normal thing for a Sith to do when someone attacks him.”

The girl hurried forward, holding out her hands to pacify both of them. “Hold your weapon, Kaal. This is not what Zash wanted, remember?” She turned to Murlesson and bowed low. “My lord, we have not met, but Kaal and I are Zash’s newest apprentices. My name is Corrin. She honoured us by telling us about a prophecy, a dream she had… one that has now been fulfilled by you.”

“She does have a lot of them, doesn’t she?” Murlesson asked, faintly sarcastic.

“Darth Zash dreamt that her stronger apprentice would eventually rise to destroy her,” Corrin said earnestly, apparently missing it entirely. A pity. “But she also foresaw that the same apprentice would rise to bring new glory and strength to a fragmented Sith Order. She went knowingly to her death at your hand so that you could lead the Sith to glory!”

It was all a lie, a complete and total fabrication. Were they stupid? Well, if they believed Zash, they’d be all the easier for him to manipulate. And he’d need apprentices, even relatively stupid ones. He had no interest in leading anyone to glory. Glory was a useless concept. He was going to take this supposedly fragmented Sith Order and smash it utterly. “Then I formally claim all that she had, as her former apprentice and the one who bested her. That includes you.”

Corrin smiled. “We have been anticipating this day since Zash first leaked the rumours of your incredible triumph over Darth Skotia. Zash answered to Darth Thanaton on the Dark Council – he’ll want to speak to you.” Thanaton wasn’t on the Dark Council yet… “But we are your servants.”

He pulled his hood over his head, covering the missing mask piece. “Announce me, Khem.”

Khem stepped forward. < _Gladly, my master_.> The deep growl grew more measured, more commanding. < _Behold Murlesson, the heir of Kallig, slayer of Skotia and Zash, successor of Tulak Hord, Lord of the Sith. Now bow!_ >

They bowed, both of them, without question, prostrating themselves before him. He looked down upon them and felt a rush. Zash was technically dead and all her former power was his. It was a good day to be alive.


	11. Into the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one of the most important ones for giving the Inquisitor back some agency. In the game, they just run off at Thanaton’s order, almost get killed, and then Grandpa shows up to save them and yell at them for being stupid when the player isn’t allowed any other choice? I don’t like that. If BioWare’s pretending I’m playing a cunning, scheming character, that’s bad writing. I also don’t like getting scraped off the floor by Kaal and Corrin because the Inquisitor was too dumb to plan any sort of escape route (in b4 anyone complains that there was no time to execute an escape route), even if I do like the part where the Inquisitor straight up dies-but-not (cockroach like). The confrontation wasn’t the worst writing ever, it was just lazy. So I’m adding some proper drama.
> 
> This story's tone can probably be summed up by [Corpse Party: Blood Covered - Chapter 1 Main Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S8_U69e26M) \- it's so incredibly gothic I love it so much. XD  
> Researching ambience music is [Corpse Party - Underground Maze](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi4YqgczVAE). Showdown with Thanaton is soundtracked to [Soul of Steel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNnotCdM1QY)!

Part 11: Into the Shadows

Zash’s former power came with a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork. Murlesson might have thought that with Sith murdering each other and taking each others’ playthings constantly, this process might have been cold-bloodedly streamlined a bit more, but no – he was suddenly buried to his horns in forms and procedures. Did she have to do all this when she took Skotia’s place? Probably she had more staff to delegate to. He knew some of her Imperial minions, but not nearly enough, or well enough; he didn’t trust them to do this yet. He hadn’t prepared properly for this outcome, hadn’t known what to prepare for. And she’d hidden a lot of her resources in different places, which he didn’t disapprove of on principle, it just made it take longer for him to find it.

A lot of her funding came from Imperial research grants, filtered down through the Sith hierarchy, mostly through Thanaton, where a lot of it had dried up after Skotia’s death. But he was not the sole provider, and Murlesson also found a lot of savings accounts under assumed names. At least he’d found enough that he could count on Revel’s continued loyalty, the Viper’s upkeep, and the small staff Zash kept on hand. Her private apartment he sold, over her distorted grumbles. He preferred to sleep at the complex as he used to – not that he’d had time to sleep yet. More interesting to him was tracking down all the repositories of artefacts, the secret libraries, the _juicy_ stuff. He wondered when he’d have time to study it all.

Corrin and Kaal were not as much help as he might have hoped – of course, she had expected to be in control, and so would not have needed to tell them very much. But at least they were very eager to please. Testing them was slightly disappointing. They were burly and had a passable knowledge of Sith history and lore, but they were not overly bright; mere educated grunts for her to control. He would have to find a use for them anyway. They clung to him, in a way, conscious at least partly of their own inability to survive on their own in this ecosystem and clueless about where to go should he reject them.

He was interrupted from this whirlwind of activity a day later by Darth Thanaton, now of the Dark Council. His gut churned cold when the summons came. He had hoped to fade back into the shadows by not making a stir after Zash died, but realistically speaking there was small chance of that. Zash had not been weak, and anyone strong enough to kill a Darth needed to be watched. If the Force were with him, all Thanaton wanted was to start incorporating him into _his_ power structure.

Thanaton’s office was much higher up in the Sith Sanctum, and Murlesson went there as soon as the message hit his datapad. There were Sith guarding the door, and Murlesson wondered what a fate it was to be strong enough to be considered to bodyguard Thanaton, yet weak enough that being given guard duty was the best use of one’s skills. He felt a bit shabby in his apprentice’s robes, awkwardly tall and skinny among all these power armour-clad adults, but that ought not to be a matter of concern – all that was important was responding to Thanaton as soon as possible. Though he stopped to take a few uncalm breaths before entering the inner office.

Thanaton rose from his desk as Murlesson entered and bowed. He was framed by a great transparisteel viewport overlooking the city. Probably everyone on the Dark Council had a window like that in their office. Personally, he hardly noticed the view. Thanaton’s power coursed through the room, and he was fighting not to freeze in place like a gizka in headlights. _Focus!_

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Thanaton said to him. “Respect for his superiors is the mark of a good Sith. Of course, Zash would’ve disagreed, did disagree with me passionately on that point. But then, Zash never respected tradition.”

From how Zash had treated him so familiarly from the moment they met, he could see what Thanaton meant. Although Thanaton sounded oddly conversational at this moment himself. He pointed out the obvious Sith caveat – Thanaton should not think him uselessly menial. “It’s wise indeed to respect your superiors, my lord – at least until you’re powerful enough to kill them.” As he had done with Zash.

“An intelligent answer,” Thanaton complimented him drily. “You are not like your master. Tradition. Principles. History. The threads that compose our society. Zash refused to acknowledge how one little tug could ruin the whole tapestry.” _Or was she too selfish to care?_ “Your work was sloppy, brazen, even, but the news of her murder was sweet.”

“I am glad I was able to please you, my lord.” A slave’s answer.

Thanaton smiled grimly. “I only hope that next time you’ll be a little less obvious. Nevertheless, we’re here to talk about you, not Zash. You have demonstrated remarkable ability. Though I am a stricter master than Zash, I think you’ll find that to loyal followers of our traditions, I am not ungenerous.”

“Then I will do my best not to disappoint you,” Murlesson said with a small bow. His fingers were cold and numb, palms clammy.

“In that case, I think we will have a very fruitful relationship. Now, I wish to see how you work. To the west, between here and the Dark Temple, lies the tomb of Darth Andru, Sith scholar and alchemist. I’m interested in his last writings, which were buried with him. Recover them for me, as soon as possible, and we will discuss your place in my power structure.”

“Yes, my lord,” Murlesson said, and left as Thanaton waved him away dismissively.

He took a shaky breath once he was back in the elevator down. He had survived this encounter, and now his life was much more complicated than before. Zash had needed him, had made that clear from the beginning. He’d had a certain immunity from her. From Thanaton, he had nothing. Thanaton didn’t need him at all. If he couldn’t make himself useful immediately, Thanaton would dispose of him.

And _that_ was assuming that Thanaton was acting in good faith. He didn’t trust him further than he could kick him, and while there was no sign _yet_ that this was a trap… chances were better than even. They always were with Sith.

His commlink went off, and he jumped. “Hello?”

“Murlesson.” It was Aristheron. “Would you be available this evening?”

Was he? He should put all energy towards pleasing Thanaton, on the off chance that it wasn’t a trap, shouldn’t he? Or should he already be striving to break free from his inevitable demise? He amended his earlier statement. Aristheron of all Sith would never set a trap for him until they were actively enemies. “I could be. What do you need?”

“I can’t discuss it here. The Nexus Room, at 2200 hours?”

“Understood.” That would give him time to at least get some preliminary research out of the way. Corrin and Kaal would just have to figure out how to take some of the paperwork.

The Nexus Room, a fairly fashionable lounge near the Sith Sanctum, was more crowded than Murlesson would have liked that evening. He wondered if it was a weekend, then wondered how long he’d been working to not know if it was the weekend. Vany caught sight of him with a bright smile and waved him over. He was a bit too sour for the smile to have an effect on its own – with Revel’s help, he’d determined more or less that his task was 100% a trap designed to kill him off – but the simple fact that he was able to see his… friends again lifted his mood involuntarily. Janelle was not present; probably for the best.

Murlesson nodded to Aristheron and received a nod in return. “Do you need my strength or my mind?”

“Neither,” Aristheron said, looking vaguely annoyed that he’d had to clarify. “I thought it proper to inform you of developments in my career. My master is dead, and I am now commander of a small strike force bound for Corellia tomorrow.”

He’d heard Darth Emment was dead, and it didn’t take much guessing to figure out how. Murlesson frowned. “But who are you under?” _Who do you belong to? There are no loose ends allowed in the Empire._

“Nominally, Darth Marr, if that’s what you’re asking. But I will be devoting myself to the military first and foremost. There is still a place there for you, should you wish to join me now that you are free of your own master.”

Murlesson smiled mirthlessly. “Getting free of _her_ might be the last thing I do. I am now beholden to Darth Thanaton, and his first errand might kill me. I will have no autonomy until I’ve proven myself.” Or escaped. But that was too much to dream, wasn’t it.

“That’s terrible!” Vany exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”

Aristheron’s face darkened. “Then it is a pity I must leave so soon. Be careful.” Not that he could interfere even if he weren’t going.

“I don’t have much of a choice. I will.”

Vany perked up abruptly, away from her fruity purple drink. “Oh! Hey! Look! There’s another blue Twi-lek over there. How unusual!”

Murlesson looked too, and blinked. “It’s that girl.”

“You know her?” Vany asked.

“Not the Twi-lek, the woman she’s with.”

“Akuliina Volkova,” Aristheron said blandly, not betraying any of his previously-claimed distaste. “Ah. She’s seen you, it seems.”

Indeed, the other blue Twi-lek had seen Vany, and was heading towards them, a nervous but excited grin on her face, matched only by Vany’s own. “Er… sorry to bother you, but-!”

“My name’s Vany!” Vany chirped. “What’s your name, fellow alien?”

“I’m Vette! It’s nice to meet you!”

“Fancy seeing you again,” Volkova’s arrogant, confident voice rolled over the two twittering Twi-leks. “I see you managed not to get yourself killed. Murlesson, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Murlesson said. “Murlesson Kallig. This is-”

“Aristheron Laskaris,” Volkova said, tossing her chin-length white hair. “Everyone knows him.”

“And I know of you,” Aristheron said, politely.

“I didn’t wish to assume,” Murlesson said sardonically. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve completed my training, and chosen a master,” Volkova said casually, picking an empty spot at the table beside him. “Came to have a drink and see who’s to be seen.”

“Also, she spent the last two hours buying furniture for her new penthouse, it’s _crazy_ ,” Vette said. “It’s being delivered now.”

“Oh my word,” Vany commiserated.

“Whatever shaves your bantha,” Murlesson said. Of _course_ Volkova bought a penthouse. “They let you drink?”

She raised her glass of unidentifiable blue liquid. “They don’t let you?”

He scowled. “According to Imperial law, I’m not of an age to imbibe intoxicants.” And he couldn’t Force-persuade the servers, they were all droids or Sith alert for such things. Even though the law let him pilot speeders, command the military, and – oh yes – murder high-ranking Sith. And drink criminal amounts of caf, which ought to count as an intoxicant from his ship droid’s point of view.

She cackled. “You’re younger than I thought!”

“How old are you, then?” Murlesson demanded, nettled. She didn’t seem _that_ much older than him.

She snorted. “Twenty. Laskaris?”

“None of your business.”

She shrugged at the rebuff and sipped her drink.

Murlesson glared at the tabletop. It wasn’t fair. Everyone was older and more experienced than him. What he could do with four more years of life…

“Murlesson, you are already a Lord of the Sith,” Aristheron reminded him. “In my personal opinion, intoxicants are overrated.”

That was true, even if it was wide of his mark. Perhaps deliberately, to keep the tone light. Also, this was valuable ally-gathering time. He lifted his head. “By the way, Volkova-”

“Akuliina,” she corrected him. “You’re not my minion nor my enemy. Yet.”

“Very well. Akuliina, I still owe you from Korriban.”

“You do indeed.” Her golden eyes glittered like a predator as she smirked. He didn’t like it. He was a predator himself – and so was Aristheron. All Sith were; whose teeth here were the sharpest?

“I may be dead in the near future, so the sooner you cash in that favour, the better,” he grumbled.

She lifted a white eyebrow. “You would warn me rather than spend your last days fighting your fate? How altruistic.”

“I’m still fighting my fate,” he said. He was also playing a longer game than the next few days. Just in case. It wouldn’t do to have such a debt hanging over him if he managed to keep acquiring power… and it would solidify some sort of strategic bond between them, hopefully. “Thanaton can’t complain if I’m helping the apprentice of Darth Baras, can he?”

“Very well. I will help you to help me.”

Aristheron stood. “I do not mean to be rude, but it is time for me to go. Murlesson, contact me when you can. Force willing, we will meet again.”

“Good luck with your strike force,” Murlesson wished him, standing as well and clasping his hand. “Goodbye, Vany.”

“Hope to see you soon!” Vany said, her smile fragile at the edges. She probably believed she was talking to a dead man. “And you too, Vette!”

“Call me!” Vette stage-whispered, miming a commlink, and Vany giggled and nodded. Aristheron nodded to them all, and strode off.

Akuliina had raised her drink again in response, and now turned to Murlesson. “Well, then. What do you know of the Dark Temple?”

“Quite a bit…”

Thanaton may have tried to be more subtle about it than Zash had been, but there were the signs – anyone who went into Darth Andru’s tomb didn’t come out again. Time to do the impossible again, Murlesson thought, and sighed long.

The research available on the tomb was thin, since no one ever came out alive, but he could extrapolate from similar tombs. There were only a few possibilities: traps, or the tomb’s angry occupant. Before getting sidetracked, he’d set his sights on researching his ancestor – had been researching spirits, less specifically, since Kallig had been erased fairly thoroughly from history. His preparation fitted in neatly to his new thrust.

Now he flung himself feverishly into his work, leaving everything else to hang. Turning in paperwork on time would help him not at all if he was dead. He could sleep some other time. He delved into Zash’s libraries, finding the oldest texts he could. She came with him in Khem’s body, offering what aid she could.

“Anything else by that author?”

“Not in my possession, sadly. I was going to steal one from Darth Grynsthal but…”

“Well, frakking Sith-spit…”

“Murlesson…?” she scolded him. “Where did you learn such language?”

He shrugged. What did that have to do with anything. “Around. Andronikos. The holonet.” It wasn’t like they were uncommon words, or difficult to learn how to use.

“I shall have to have a word with him…”

“What, because he’ll kriffing listen to you now?” He was going to use extra curses around her now just to annoy her.

“Oh, shut up and read your book. I’ll go see what else I have.”

He smirked at Khem’s retreating back and followed her advice.

And what he read… brought him a miracle. There was a chance. A chance not only to survive the trap, but survive Thanaton’s wrath afterwards.

Helping Akuliina into the Dark Temple was beneficial to him, not only to give him an excuse to prolong his life, but to seek out other ghosts… and experiment.

She was smarter than she had initially let on… not that he was able to be very subtle about chasing spectres, not after the spectacular metaphysical display of successfully binding the first one. She folded her arms, cocked her head, and stared at him, while her Twi-lek huddled behind her. “Why ghosts? What makes you think you can control them? The whole reason they’re ghosts is because they had too much willpower to dissipate into the Force.”

He picked himself up off the ground where he’d staggered, near-overwhelmed by the burden of power. “Because if I don’t consume them, I join them.” He glanced down at his skinny frame. “It’s about all I have time to eat these days, anyway.”

Her gaze was cool and penetrating. “You’re half-cracked, aren’t you.”

“Better than dead,” he snarked back, and she smirked. She was pretty psychotic herself, in his opinion.

Her forays to the Temple were completed all too soon, and it was only a few days later he stood before Darth Andru’s tomb, deep in the jungle, Khem beside him. Revel he had left behind. There was no point in risking the sanity of his pilot, and besides, he needed him for something else. He wished he’d had more time… but Thanaton had sent him an impatient message in the morning. No doubt he wanted him dead sooner rather than later, to avoid wasting too much bureaucracy on a doomed boy.

He breathed deep of the humid air – he could feel the Force with him, his control over it far greater than before thanks to the stolen power already within him. Certainly, it was written that any Force-sensitive could become strong with training and time. It was a popular maxim that to do anything properly, there were no short-cuts. But he had no choice. If he paid for it later… so be it.

The tomb’s entrance was unsealed, barred only by a modern-era door probably installed by archaeologists to keep animals out. The tunnel within was cloyingly dark around the beam of his flashlight; apparently whatever funding had financed the door had not extended to permanent light installations. Probably because of whatever kept killing everyone. It was narrow, and winding, and damp; water had seeped through the stone and dripped through the ceiling. He hoped that whatever writings lay at the end of the tomb were intact.

This ghost was less subtle than Kallig. “Venom-toothed vipers, always slithering, slithering,” hissed a whisper in the corridor. “Up the walls, along the floors.”

He was not nearly as intimidated as he had been by his ancestor, either, and pressed on. He came out into a slightly larger chamber, marked with a coffin in the centre and a pedestal behind it. Bodies lay about – no doubt the unfortunate remains of Thanaton’s victims. The whisper grew louder, and a dimly glowing shape began to coalesce over the coffin. “Trespasser! Trespasser! You’ll not have it. It’s mine. It’s the last place in the galaxy that’s mine!”

Murlesson huffed, as if speaking to an acquaintance. “I just want your writings. You can have the tomb.”

The ghost ranted and flailed, drifting to and fro before him and around him. “Never satisfied, are you, my apprentice? The poison still fresh in my body, you defile my tomb. You and your sister both. The poison may have burned away my sight, but I know you. Don’t make my mistake – strangle your children at birth!”

“I’m sorry your offspring murdered you, but strangling all children may not be the solution.” He certainly wasn’t at a point to be thinking about children, and didn’t see the point in starting to think about it right now.

The ghost shook with rage at him. “Solution!? Death is the only solution for vipers like you!” It flew at him, hands outstretched, a wall of dark power surging towards him. Khem growled something wordless and gripped his sword tighter.

Murlesson reached out his hand to divert the power away from him, to trap it, to seep the threads of his will into the nebulous other. He had to brace – the forces were immense, far stronger than the first ghost he’d bound.

The spirit’s attack blunted, it recoiled away from him in confusion. “What happened!? What did you do to me!? You’re not my son. Bring me that treacherous scoundrel so I can cut him open!”

Murlesson shrugged. “Your son’s probably dead by now too, but that’s not important. I’m taking your power for my own. You can come the easy way, or the hard way.”

Gathering itself again, the ghost laughed. “What about ‘not at all’? Do you really think you can handle my power? It doesn’t matter. You won’t have me. This is my last stronghold… and I won’t be your slave!”

Murlesson raised his voice and both hands. “I think you misheard. I wasn’t asking.”

Khem laughed as the ghost screamed in fury. “You treacherous-!”

It was caught in his will, now, snared in a thousand multiplying threads of his control. He was no longer aware of his physical body, his consciousness ascending almost entirely into the Force – a dangerous thing, if he lost himself entirely, if his mind and body separated. But this battle was not of the physical but of the supernatural, and he… mostly… knew what he was doing.

The Force tore through him, waves of black rage; he countered with his own desperate hate. He’d endure worse than this. His fingers clawed and straining, channeling dark power in a violent storm, he tore at the ghost’s manifestation, their strength evenly matched.

Wind howled through the chamber, glowing with a fell light, as the ghost gave a shriek and vanished, vanquished. The power surged into Murlesson’s body, through his soul, and he arched his back painfully as it racked him. _No! Stop! Control!_ It roared through him, trying to break free even still. He felt like it was going to rip him apart and gritted his teeth, pulling himself bit by bit back together.

All at once, the pressure ceased, and he fell to his knees, trembling with exertion. His throat was raw and he wondered if he’d screamed. Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet, shivering. Why was he so cold? Freezing, even. He couldn’t wait to get back into the warm jungle air, even if he had to drink it rather than breathe it.

But the Force… the Force seethed inside him. More Force than he knew what to do with at the moment… though he was sure that would change once he saw Thanaton.

He smiled.

He was physically weak and shaky yet when he exited the tomb, but when the door opened, he tensed, hardly noticing the temperature now. Thanaton was waiting for him. Sithspawn! Of all the frakking scum…

He composed himself. Thanaton had surely sensed him, as he had sensed Thanaton. There was no hiding or turning back. He quickly tapped his commlink, sending a message to Revel, and walked out, trying his hardest to cloak his presence in the Force, the fact that he’d grown thrice as strong in less than a week. “I retrieved the writings for you, my lord.” He handed him the holocron with a subservient bow. For once, it was not raining, not that rain would damage a holocron.

Thanaton accepted the box, turning it over thoughtfully. Murlesson tried not to eye the bodyguards nervously. “Hm. You’ve put me in a difficult position, boy.”

“My lord?”

“When Zash disobeyed me and had Skotia killed, tradition demanded that she be killed and her power base destroyed.” He sighed. “Believe me when I say I wish that you had stayed in that tomb. It will pain me to watch you die.”

Murlesson snarled, dropping all pretense at humility. “Because your _feelings_ are more important than my _life_. I haven’t even defied you!”

Thanaton shrugged. “Your master openly opposed me, and I cannot risk you following in her footsteps. May the Force welcome you with open arms.” He turned to his bodyguards. “Kill him.”

They were instantly on him, lightsabers swinging; he drew his own, springing back with a growl. Would Thanaton help them, or just watch? Khem roared and charged into the fray. No, it was two on two. Technically, he was still outmatched. He didn’t have the experience in physical combat to stand up to them directly. He ducked, dodging, weaving, his double-bladed lightsaber whirling viciously. The Force beat upon him under his opponent’s control, but he hardly felt it through parrying the heavy sweeps of her scarlet lightsaber. He yanked on his own control of the Force, flinging it at her, aiming to confuse, to elude. The other’s saber slashed the sleeve of his robes, and he gave ground nimbly, gasping for air, on the edge of enraged panic. High, low, each side – his enemy’s guard was unbreakable, and he was getting separated from Khem…

His enemy was wearing a breath mask, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, in her aura. He pushed harder in the Force, willing himself invisible, willing her disoriented. He tripped over a stone, trying not to scream as he fell backwards unexpectedly, but she hesitated for the briefest moment in her onslaught. He thrust forward, releasing lightning through his blade into her chestplate – he hadn’t expected to get so far past her guard but he would take it-!

She collapsed and he slashed savagely before charging Khem’s opponent from behind. This one felt him coming, or at least heard him coming, spinning to face them both with a grunt. Murlesson darted forward, lightsaber snarling, and fell back with an agonized cry. This Sith had parried and sliced his arm near to the bone.

Pain flooded him, bleeding into his darkness, and he lashed out like an animal as Khem counterattacked from the other side. The Sith parried again, and again, the blades of the three combatants clashing faster and faster. He only had a little time before his injury caught up to him. He had to kill him now! He let out the scream that had been building inside him, and the Sith staggered as he blocked Khem’s strike. And Murlesson stabbed him through the chest.

Thanaton clapped his hands softly, sardonically, smiling mockingly. “You truly are relentless. I can see now why Zash chose you.”

“When my choices are death and painful death, I really can risk a lot,” Murlesson snarked, panting hard. His hearts were thudding in his chest, adrenaline racing through his veins, ready to act or react. The real fight still hadn’t begun yet.

Thanaton’s smile twitched, possibly in genuine amusement. “Indeed.” He did not seem to move, but suddenly the Force roared about him, the wind swirling through the jungle clearing like a million rattling snakes, rising to a scream.

Murlesson met the blast head-on, motionless in his turn as he turned it away with only his will. His crimson hair whipped in the wind, and his singed robes flapped loudly. Who would use a physical mnemonic to direct the Force to his command first?

It was Murlesson, flinging out first one hand, then the other, heedless of his wound, Darkness and desperation and pure venomous hate rising within him and around him in a whirling cloud. He could do this – he could challenge Thanaton, Darth Thanaton of the Dark Council, and live! All he wanted was to live! Just one more moment of life was a victory! His stolen power coursed down his arms, directed straight at Thanaton, intent upon beating him back, holding him off just a little longer. Just a little longer! And Thanaton showed signs of flinching before rallying, his own hands outstretched now, making sigils to direct the Force in response to Murlesson’s raw, determined strength.

A Force-blind observer would not have seen much; two men and a monster in a clearing filled with unnatural storm and the odd flash of lightning, but the tide of the Force surged between them invisibly, striking and recoiling, grasping and barring. How much longer could he keep this up?

“You’ve come prepared!” Thanaton cried over the howling wind. “By now I should have expected that. But this has carried on long enough.”

“Yes, it has,” Murlesson growled hoarsely, his ears pricking as he faintly heard the incoming whine of thrusters. “But it’s not over. I promise you, it’s not over.”

“Oh, but it is. Unfortunately for you, I am older and wiser and studied in powers you can’t even imagine…” Thanaton’s confident gloating trailed off as the Viper came screaming in, guns blazing, forcing both Sith to jump away from each other. Revel spun the ship fluidly, presenting Murlesson with the loading ramp; Khem jumped aboard and reached out to help Murlesson on.

Murlesson gave Thanaton a sarcastic salute, then saw how his enemy was standing, his posture, his pose. There was pain in his chest – his defenses were down-

He woke in his nest in his cabin, he knew not how much time later. As his eyes fluttered open, he heard movement beside his bed, sensed presences, and sat up abruptly, reaching out to blast the interloper with the Force-

But it was only Kaal, looking somehow both relieved and terrified. “My lord, you’re awake!”

“I suppose I am,” Murlesson said, feeling his chest. He felt fine now. At least, his chest did. His arm had been bandaged with kolto and he felt like painkillers had been applied, but it still hurt. “What did he do to me?”

“I-I don’t know, my lord. As per your last orders, we are bound for Nar Shaddaa.” He waited helplessly.

“Get everyone to gather in the common area,” Murlesson ordered. His worst-case scenario was in progress and he hadn’t had time to plan the next step yet.

He’d really hoped to have more time. There had barely been enough time as it was to drain Zash’s libraries into the Viper’s memory banks, and forget packing any of the artefacts. Thanaton would get them all, and that was annoying. Also annoying was how he felt like he was flailing from one catastrophe to another, only escaping by the skin of his teeth time and again. When was he going to have the upper hand, dammit!? But Revel had come to get him as requested, and if only he’d not let his guard down at the last second, his getaway would have been clean.

He exited his cabin to a veritable crowd – Khem, Revel, Corrin, Kaal, and most of Zash’s Imperial staff. How they’d all found space to sleep on the fairly small Viper, he didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care.

Corrin brightened. “My lord, you’re back!”

“Thought you were gone,” Revel said drily. “Collapsing on the ramp like that – it’s a good thing Khem Val dragged you inside before we left atmosphere.”

“You didn’t have a pulse for several minutes, but you remained warm,” Corrin said. “I don’t know how you survived that.”

His ears burned. He’d been at everyone’s mercy for long hours. “I guess I should thank you, then.”

“You are our master, my lord,” she said earnestly. “Without you, we are orphans.” He supposed that was true. Given how Thanaton had been ready to exterminate _him_ for the mere crime of being chosen by Zash, he would have snuffed out these two without even noticing, and they knew it.

“Your survival is the most remarkable thing I’ve ever witnessed,” said Zash’s voice, and he turned to glare at Khem. “I still can’t quite figure it out. It seems Thanaton’s last strike should have killed you, did kill you, but he didn’t fully understand the bond between you and the dead. To truly kill you, he would have had to purge their spirits. You died… and their very presence kept you alive.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically. “So I’m resistant to Force-induced heart attacks. I’m sure that doesn’t work with decapitation.”

“Don’t suppose you’re willing to test that,” Revel said idly, and Murlesson glared briefly at him too.

“But what do we do, my lord?” Kaal asked. “We can’t wait for Thanaton to catch up to us and kill us.”

Murlesson’s eyes sharpened. “First things first. We’re going to Nar Shaddaa to regroup. My base there should be reasonably hidden from Thanaton’s eyes… though he knows it exists. Still, I think he’ll have enough to deal with absorbing Zash’s holdings on Dromund Kaas. He probably won’t even think that my base on Nar Shaddaa is much of a threat – or a resource – without me.”

“Without you, my lord?” Corrin asked doubtfully.

He nodded. “As far as he knows, he killed me. He must have felt my life end. _I_ felt my life end, even if my spirit didn’t go anywhere. So there’s a time where I can move around freely, if cautiously.” So dying had probably actually worked out _better_ for him. He looked around at everyone menacingly. “And if any of you breathes a word of my continued existence I will find you and kill you painfully. I _will_ know if you do.”

The Imperials looked stiff and a little frightened, but he was being nice – really, he was! Naga Sadow would have executed them all and found replacements rather than risk it. But he couldn’t afford replacements right now. Even if he didn’t really have a use for them right now. And pulling rank to get a new office anywhere would land him on Thanaton’s radar… Urgh. He really hadn’t thought this through as rigorously as he’d believed. Maybe he _should_ just execute them and be done with it. He was outside the Empire now, wasn’t he?

No, he needed to infiltrate these people back to Dromund Kaas to be his eyes and ears there. He would just have to find some way to ensure their loyalty, one way or another.

He took a deep breath. “Secondly – I need more strength. I _will_ face Thanaton again – it’s inevitable. And this time, I want to crush him.” Force strength, political strength, military strength, he didn’t care. Give it all to him, he’d make something of it.

“If you want to keep chasing the dead, it’s a gamble,” Zash said. “None of us know the cost of acquiring so much power so quickly.”

“If you have another idea, say so,” Murlesson told her acidly, and she paused.

“The Jedi on Yavin 4 were investigating something of that nature,” she said. “I sent a man to investigate shortly before my… unfortunate change.”

His eyes flickered over Corrin and Kaal, wondering if they’d noticed at _all_ that their former master was trapped in the body of a monster and was sharing it part-time. Or had all been explained while he was out cold? Half-explained? The whats but not the wherefores? He didn’t actually care.

“Then that’s where I’ll start,” he said. “I’m going to go flesh out the details. Dismissed.”

The Imperials he decided not to reassign back to Dromund Kaas after all. It would be a loss of intelligence, but they were not trained for espionage anyway. He didn’t have time for a detour… he needed more minions for that. He made the detour himself, and had Revel hack into one of Zash’s accounts while he was at it. He could have accessed it directly, but that would have left clues he didn’t want to leave.

It was ironic, but Commenor was his best chance right now. The world that he’d spent so long on, the world he’d fought to be free from, and now he was returning, because it was the other most-populated Imperial centre. Strangely, he didn’t seize up upon returning. Perhaps it was because he’d never been outside and had no emotional connection, positive or negative, with the planet in general. He recognized nothing, and he was fine with that. It was just a less-rainy, less-Sithy Dromund Kaas to him. Netokos’s estate had been taken over by a new merchant prince, and he didn’t care in the slightest. It… actually felt great to not care.

A Force-laced word here, a bribe there, and he had a new office in an unassuming sector of the planet. There was little for them to do for _him_ as of yet; he had no repositories of artefacts for them to curate, no research projects they could assist with – he intended this ghost-hunting project to be hands-on and personal. But that didn’t mean there was little for them to do entirely. He got them assigned to adequate positions in the Commenor defense force and left them to settle in, after a few days organizing the office how he wanted. He’d call on them when he needed them, and if he acquired more Imperial holdings, now he had a place to send them.

If Thanaton really dug, he might see the ripples Murlesson was making. But first he would have to know where to look, and how; it was unlikely that Thanaton knew the name Kallig was attached to him. And Murlesson might be engaged in a spat with someone on the Dark Council… but he was still a genuine Lord of the Sith, and his word was the Imperials’ command as long as he didn’t directly contradict someone more important than him.

And then he could go to Nar Shaddaa, where he knew what he was doing, where the crime was blue-collar rather than white-collar, where gossip flowed like water, where the veneer of civilization was sarcastically thin. Where the Force bubbled dark and restless and chaotic, where dark-robed Zabrak were a much more common sight and he could move unseen.

The trip from Commenor to Nar Shaddaa was unwelcome quiet. He would have kept working on the way there, but after tripping over his own feet in the common room and passing out in the shower, he had to acknowledge that it was time for a rest. His breakneck schedule was chasing him down, and even with stims and caf, his brain was so foggy he could hardly think straight. Even the imminent threat of death and the fact that he needed to establish himself as a Sith Lord _yesterday_ couldn’t keep him alert. He slept most of the way to the Hutt moon, trying not to obsess over his plans for when he got there. Trying not to dream about heart attacks or ghosts.

The cult was doing well. Destris was subdued and behaving deferentially, thank the Force, and things seemed to be running smoothly. Rylee was happy to see him, and showed him the latest updates on the factory’s productions. As he looked around, he noticed interesting things – the red and black bracelets he’d made as an identifying sign were evolving. Some cultists were wearing the colours as necklaces. Some humans were wearing them as hair ties. And one Rodian was wearing a rather hideous red-and-black striped outfit, complete with dyed hair, but whatever fed her hawkbat, Murlesson supposed. Though… “That’s hardly inconspicuous.”

< _I only wish to express my adoration for you, Master,_ > said the Rodian. Whom he’d never met before.

“Khi doesn’t go outside,” Rylee hastened to assure him. “She would rather stay here. She’s been a great help to us all.”

“Very well,” he said, inclining his head regally. He’d allow it. He met with the members who had been abused on their arrival and listened to them, though he didn’t intend to do anything in particular even if they’d had lingering grievances. They seemed suitably awed just that he’d meet with them personally; Rylee must have been very persuasive. He ate a meal with his followers, though he discouraged the more fanatical worshipers from getting close, and took notes on what could be done to expand operations. At the rate they were growing, he’d be able to invest in more space, perhaps even proper legal and security aid for his leaders. Though caution was warranted; the bigger they got, the more their neighbours would take notice, and not necessarily in a good way.

And then he’d had to deal with Corrin and Kaal talking between themselves about sexually harassing Rylee and Destris. It was like running a kindergarten for adults, not that he had _any_ experience with kindergartens outside of the expression tossed around on the holonet. He probably shouldn’t have brought them here if they couldn’t stay focused on his mission. Stupid low-level Sith. He wondered if giving them some philosophy would help… Even actually train them like actual apprentices.

They’d be out of Nar Shaddaa soon enough, and they’d either grow up, or grow dead. He had use for Sith minions, but he could always get more. “Have either of you met Thanaton before?” he asked them the next day.

“No, my lord,” Kaal said.

“He wouldn’t know of their existance,” Zash said from Khem’s body. “I took them on in secret. No one was supposed to know – certainly not _you_.” If she had been human, she would have glared suspiciously at him, he supposed, but she was not, and Khem always looked like he was glaring suspiciously. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that it was his dead ancestor who’d informed on her, even if she was one of the few who might actually believe him.

Kaal stared. “I-I… You lied to us!?”

“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Murlesson said. “That’s what Sith _do_. If you’re surprised, you ought to join the Jedi.”

Kaal blinked. “R-right. I understand, my lord.”

 _No, you don’t_ , he thought, but that was fine, because if they started distrusting him too soon, they’d be useless or worse. “I hope so, because I need eyes and ears on Thanaton.” Their eyes went wide with fear. “What are you being afraid for? He won’t notice you unless you do something careless. All I need is accurate updates on his movements until I’m ready to strike.”

“Ah, I understand, my lord,” Corrin said. “I think we can do that.”

“Good.” He considered. “While you’re there, if you see a chance to steal anything that used to belong to Zash, I wouldn’t mind having it back. Even steal from Thanaton’s collection if it comes up, but he’s less likely to miss something that he recently acquired en masse. You can have a bonus for every piece you obtain.” Hopefully that would be enough to forestall any thoughts of jumping ship to Thanaton.

Their eyes gleamed. “We’ll do our best, Master.”

He allowed them an encouraging smile. “Do well, and we all benefit. I will need someone to oversee the Commenor operation eventually.”

They had been sent off, eager and bold as young apprentices seemed to be. And now, finally, he was alone, and could dispense with ‘dignity’ and go back to eating junk food in his cabin while looking for ghost references on the holonet. Yavin 4, Zash had said. Now that was a repository for Sith bones if you knew where to look…

What was this? News from Balmorra… He skipped over the part about Akuliina single-handedly cutting through rebel fortresses. The rebels had also staged an attack resulting in the death of Darth Lachris… and the Rurouni had been spotted.

His vision swam. Was he delirious? Darth Lachris… dead!?

The Rurouni had done it. Whatever else had pushed him to do it… he had done it. Murlesson laughed, wildly, relief and triumph rushing through him. He grabbed a pillow to him with the Force and punched it into the air, half-sobbing. Never again. Never again would she take anything from him. The nightmares might come and go but he had defeated her, even if indirectly.

The others could probably hear him laughing. He didn’t care. Ding, dong, the witch was dead.


	12. The Maiden and the Assassins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may already have noticed that I changed the location from Taris to Yavin 4. That’s because I don’t think Taris really fits what the Inquisitor is trying to do, even if I realize the game has to go there for mechanical reasons. So… Yavin 4, which has a decent Legacy trove of lore to draw on. Hopefully this doesn’t clash with the expansion that I’ll probably never ever play, lol. And I have detailed criticisms of basically every part of the Taris missions. I could pick them apart for pages… or I could just post this chapter, and you can see my criticisms in what I decided to change (N.B. not all changes are criticisms, but all criticisms are changes).
> 
> I’ve really been looking forward to finally getting Ashara in here! I love her as a character. I don’t know what she’s like Dark Side, but Light Side she’s a bundle of fun.
> 
> There’s another scene here that I’ve been looking forward to which is exclusive to Murlesson. The music you should be listening to with it is [Corpse Party: Chapter 3 Opening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ie9KZnhxIo8) muahahahahaha… It’s written as a 1:1 cutscene with the music, so if you read fast, it will line up if you press play at “He was a brave man to have penetrated these forgotten depths alone…” but I don’t recommend reading it super fast, I spent a lot of time on that part! XD

Part 12: The Maiden and the Assassins

He lurked in the undergrowth, prone, near-invisible with his hood drawn over his red head, near-invisible in the Force with his power shrouded down inside himself, reading while he waited for the target to arrive. Yavin 4 was surprisingly remote and untouched, for all that it was whispered that Naga Sadow’s true tomb was here. The knowledge should have filled him with geekish glee at the opportunity to visit the system, but while rare copies of the Sith Lord’s writings were floating about the universe, including in Zash’s library, it wasn’t recorded where the tomb actually _was_ , as far as he knew. And besides, he didn’t think himself strong enough to go there yet. He was not as strong as Naga Sadow. Not yet. But reading the texts was a fascinating substitute for the time being.

Once on the moon’s surface and briefed by Zash’s local man – an odious toady by the name of… Maliss, something Maliss, a stupid name he wouldn’t have been surprised to find was fake – he was only surprised that only one ghost was being investigated. The world’s past was cloaked in mystery but there was so much to discover. It was a pity it was so remote.

The sun was warm on the tree-tops far above him, and a waterfall crashed down with a dull roar not far away. Revel yawned beside him, bored out of his skull. Murlesson hadn’t needed to bring him, but for some reason the pilot wanted to come on reconnaissance. Better to be bored on a mission than bored on the ship? Murlesson disagreed; if he didn’t have to go out on a mission, he would never leave the ship. That was where all his holocrons were, and the holonet too. If Revel fell asleep and started snoring, he’d get poked viciously.

Murlesson heard footsteps crunching on the pathway to the waterfall and slipped the holocron back in his sleeve. She ought to be in this party. All his spying of the last five days couldn’t be wrong.

A group of Jedi marched into view, wearing light armour and not being particularly stealthy. And why should they be? Why should their guard be up on a simple training exercise, far far away from any Imperial installations? Murlesson did not move, willing himself to blend in body and soul to the forest floor around him, never looking directly at them for more than a moment.

One of them laughed and jogged forward eagerly on seeing the waterfall. “Finally! We made it!”

All thoughts of hiding his stares so as not to give himself away through scopathesia evaporated from his mind. He’d never heard a laugh like that before, but that was her. And… wow.

Tall, lean, energetic, with attractively-striped lekku, Ashara Zavros was a sight to behold. And she wasn’t too shabby in the Force, either, gleaming with a warm aura that waxed and waned unpredictably from moment to moment – but she was strong. The strongest Padawan in the group that now divested themselves of their packs and began arranging themselves in a circle beside the waterfall. She was the one he needed for his plans.

He had to restrain himself from lifting his head to see better, had to force himself not to stare, not to reach out. He was only here to observe. He remained motionless and listened harder.

This was pretty much his first time really studying Jedi; the few he’d killed and his brief meeting with the Rurouni months ago didn’t really count. So when they started with beginner philosophy classes, he paid attention. It was mindnumbingly basic, but he hoped it might give him insight as to how the Jedi actually used their code. He’d read it but naturally his teachers on Korriban had discouraged discussion of it… sometimes violently. But he’d never really liked how the Sith Code began with ‘Peace is a lie’; as if in reaction to the Jedi Code. As if comparing themselves forever to the Jedi. If they were truly equal, or even better, their basic tenets would stand on their own. But… it seemed that modern Sith _were_ descended from Darkside Jedi, and tradition was difficult to change. He understood _why_ it was written the way it was. He just didn’t like it. And he didn’t think it was time yet to write his own.

The Cathar Jedi was saying: “The Jedi Code states, ‘There is no passion, there is serenity’. Can anyone explain what this means? Yes, Ashara?”

Ashara put down the hand she’d popped high in the air. “It means that a Jedi must be prepared to think calmly even in intense situations. Passion is a tool of the Dark Side.” It certainly was… but he couldn’t gloat in his superiority now, it would give him away. “A Jedi needs to control any strong feelings they have. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace’. And the next line means Jedi should temper their intuition with wisdom. ‘There is no ignorance, there is knowledge’.”

She gave her answers immediately and without hesitation – they were easy answers to an easy question, barely scratching the surface, and he was already getting bored. Maybe his hopes had been too high.

Maybe she’d be interested in more challenging questions? She did seem restless, and like she wanted to talk more, but thought it might be rude to other students…? Or maybe she just didn’t like sitting still. He wondered if he were becoming a little _too_ fascinated with her too quickly, considering he only needed to know her well enough to get on her good side for a few minutes.

Pfa, she’d never debate philosophy with a Sith, even if she did have an interest. At least not before he’d won a modicum of trust from her. And the Master… he could sense from here, the Master was too rigid to even contemplate speaking civilly to a Sith.

At least not without a _great_ deal of persuasion. Idly, he wondered how easy it would be to get Jedi in general to trust him, until he was living among them like a canker that they themselves welcomed. They’d probably try to ‘fix’ him or ‘heal’ him, like the Rurouni had. He might be safe from Thanaton, though. For a time. Not forever. And that was useless to him. Hiding with the Jedi meant not gathering power that he’d need later.

His eyelids were drooping by the time the philosophy lesson ended, but the apprentices- er, Padawans were headed a little farther down to the waterfall, where a huge stone lay in the middle of the pool under the falls. It must have fallen from the top of the cliff at some point in the distant past, and now the Jedi used it to practice telekinesis.

What an opportunity for humiliation, to be forced to perform in front of one’s peers. Now he wondered why there hadn’t been more group classes at the Sith Academy – or had the Sith instructors not wished that acolytes gain _too_ much of an advantage over each other by observing each other? Would that have made it too easy? Of course, the Jedi did not seem to go in for humiliation.

Humiliation wasn’t completely preventable just because they were Jedi, though. When it was Ashara’s turn to lift the rock, she made a lot of flapping gestures at it, seeming to strain unduly, and the rock moved not at all.

She sighed impatiently and turned to her instructor. “I can’t. I can’t do it. Y’know what? You want to move a rock, get a quarry droid.”

The Cathar watched her without reaction. “Calm, Ashara. Control your feelings. There is no emotion, there is peace. Try it again.”

“I tried. I tried already. I can’t do it.” And it wasn’t that she was weak. He’d felt her move the Force. She just hadn’t moved the rock.

How funny would it be if he nudged it a bit to help her? …What had gotten into him that he was even considering such a foolish action facetiously?

“Trust in the Force, and even the oldest and sturdiest of walls may be pulled down,” said her master placidly. Was that supposed to be encouraging?

She flapped at him now. “Forget this. There are Sith on Yavin 4. We should be training to fight them, not sitting here doing exercises.”

 _Ah_. That explained a lot.

“Patience, Ashara. One must empty oneself of emotion and find the peace with which to act in the Force. But you may have a rest. Varek, would you have a turn now?”

A couple of the students actually moved the stone a couple inches into the air, and it made a little splash when they let it go – but not Ashara. He didn’t get to see Master Ryen move it, either, couldn’t see how easy it might be for someone who knew what they were doing… so he’d assume Ryen was at least as good as he was himself.

It was strange, he mused as they packed up and left. From what he understood, Jedi actually started their formal training earlier than the Sith, unless they were Sith lucky enough to be groomed from childhood like Aristheron or Akuliina. So how come this lot all seemed like rank beginners?

He waited until ten standard minutes had passed before getting up. He ached a bit from being in the same position for so long, but he was going to say… worth it. Stretching to the full length of his lanky frame, he walked out casually to examine the clearing through the Force, sweeping his long-fingered hand through the air before him, though it didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t directly seen in the last hour or two. Satisfied, he turned to go back.

“Aren’t you going to move the rock?” Revel asked.

Murlesson raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

He’d been tempted, true, just to see, but there really was no point. “I was lifting things this big since _before_ I ate two spirits. It would be too easy now. Besides, someone might notice.”

“Paranoid much?”

“Is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?” Murlesson countered, sauntering away. “We’ll come back next week. I need to see more.”

“Bet ya do…”

Murlesson stopped walking and gave him a flat stare. “If that’s all _you’re_ coming for, you can stay on the ship.”

“All right, all right. But there’s no denying she’s hot, even if she’s not my type. ‘Bout the right age for you, though.”

“Shut up.” He ran a hand through his hair in irritation. It was so long now he could put it in a little ponytail if he wanted, and he was considering it – it kept getting in his way now.

“Ever hung out with a girl before? In real life, I mean, not the holonet?”

“I said to shut up, Revel.”

“Just asking.”

Same spot, different day, and they were finally doing a lightsaber exercise. Their skill level was more gratifying to see today; perhaps he’d formed his previous judgement of their inexperience too quickly. Ashara in particular was wonderful to watch, and really into it – too into it, according to her teacher.

“Ashara, relent! That’s an order!”

Ashara’s opponent staggered back from her heated blows, barely defending himself. He was weak; even Murlesson could have taken him down without using any Force tricks. She drew back and shut off her twin blades, huffing.

Master Ryen frowned and spoke slowly. “You must learn control. Varek is clearly not your equal yet. There was no reason to press the attack.”

Ashara protested shrilly. “We’re training for war. The Sith won’t surrender; we have to drive them back with everything we’ve got.”

“These are not Sith, they are fellow Padawans.” Master Ryen sighed and spoke more gently. “This is not sparring practice for you alone. You are helping in Varek’s training, and overwhelming your sparring partner teaches him nothing.”

She hung her head. “I understand, Master. Varek, I’m sorry I got carried away.”

“It’s… it’s okay, Ashara,” panted the other Padawan. “It makes me realize how much farther I have to go.”

“You show great potential, Ashara, but you must temper your fervour with patience,” said Master Ryen. “Would you help Varek with some review of Makashi form? I think it will help you both.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashara said, but she said it reluctantly.

They were holding her back to bring weaker students up to her level – students who might never get to her level. They talked about control a lot, but in the end, _they_ were controlling her, and she was letting them… for now. Even though she really was bad at upholding the Jedi Code as he understood it, even though she would have made a good Sith…

This was all irrelevant. He didn’t care if she were strong or weak, Jedi or Sith, good or bad.

Today’s session was much longer – they were going to be out the whole day, he’d already learned, so he left Revel back on the ship and brought a lunch just like the people he was watching. In the afternoon, they were engaging in an elaborate combat exercise. The drill was the Padawans would split into two teams, and each team would split into two groups, a vanguard and a rearguard, and they would pretend to fight each other. There was little strategic value in such an exercise, but perhaps they weren’t at that level yet. There was not a lot of point in training the rank-and-file in tactics, anyway. The whole thing was strange to him. They’d never had any such classes on Korriban. Perhaps if they had, that one Sith who’d gotten himself killed fighting Kel Reu Giri on Alderaan wouldn’t have gotten himself killed.

Eh, he would have gotten himself killed anyway. Sith couldn’t work together in any group larger than two, not without an alpha, anyway. If Aristheron and Akuliina had to join forces, which one would cave first?

“Varek, Eli, and Cassius will be in the assault group,” Master Ryen was saying. “The rest of you will be support. Any questions? …Then take your positions.”

Ashara hadn’t gone off with her group; she hung around until she could get the master’s attention. “Master Ryen, I think you put me in the wrong group.”

Ryen shook his head. “You are in the support group, Ashara. You will provide backup to the assault team.”

She frowned. “That’s what I mean. I should be on the assault team. Varek can barely hold a lightsaber.”

Was it his imagination, or was she trying the master’s patience? “Learning to support your fellow Jedi is an important skill, and no less important than to defend your companions from the front. Varek is learning what you already know. _You_ must learn every position on the battlefield, because you never know when you might be called to fulfill another role.”

“But Master Ryen!” she whined. Was she so short-sighted? Even _he_ agreed with the Jedi; it seemed to echo Zash’s advice to him, which had been perhaps the most useful thing she’d ever done for him.

“Enough, Ashara,” the Cathar snapped. “You have received your instructions. Join the others if you wish to complete your trial.”

She huffed and stomped off, grumbling. Master Ryen shook his head. “She has so much potential… but she doesn’t _see_. She could bring peace to so many but there is no peace inside her yet. Too much ego even after all her training.”

Peace… what was peace good for? The Jedi lived in their own little unrealistic world. It was becoming more and more evident with every moment he spent watching them. Yet it seemed like their end goal was to bring everyone into that strange little idealistic world with them, which didn’t sound so bad… …if they weren’t so terrible about actually getting it _done_. Did they think with their supernatural powers they could end all suffering in the galaxy? _Fine_ job they were doing so far. Just _fantastic_.

Master Ryen cast an idle glance towards the forest, and Murlesson stilled his thoughts; he’d been becoming careless and he didn’t want even a whiff of the Dark Side to draw Ryen’s attention. The Jedi weren’t wrong about a few things. His brain was made to be busy, and he would never be able to let go of all the hatred and fear and anger that defined his life, but all this discussion about ‘calming one’s mind’ really had made an effect on his concentration. He hadn’t done much practicing yet, but coupled with his new artificial power, wielding the Force felt so easy now. It felt good. And it was easier to hide his aura than before, which was good given how much bigger it was now.

Now he just needed to get that ghost.

He pressed further into the crypt, a lantern floating obediently by his shoulder, his eyes searching tirelessly in the dim light. A Sith Lord named Anathemos was looking for a particular holocron but was too busy to get it, Maliss had told him, Maliss the boundless source of Sith gossip and brown-nosing compliments. Gods, he couldn’t wait for his sudden but inevitable betrayal. But the tid-bit had been useful, and he seemed to have beaten Anathemos to the punch. Not that he was surprised once he’d arrived; the crypt was in a horribly inaccessible area of the jungle, so deep he’d had to ride his borrowed speeder bike for hours to get there – Revel couldn’t land the Viper any closer. And the terrain… only a truly desperate person would casually run in without preparing.

The Force was restless here, but there did not seem to be awakened spirits. At least, none that would reveal themselves to him. What there _was_ was traps. Lots and lots of traps, mostly of physical activation. He dodged the few he set off, more nervous than a Sith Lord really ought to be – it wasn’t like fighting a person, and he still hadn’t been in enough tombs yet to really feel like an expert.

The deepest chamber had the most coffins, and the holocron he was looking for, among many other artefacts that he would have enjoyed studying… if he’d had the time. He’d just slipped it into his sleeve when he heard and sensed someone coming, and shut off his lamp, snapping the chamber into complete darkness. He backed into a corner and waited.

A Republic soldier rounded the corner, looking around warily in the light of the flashlight strapped to his rifle. He grumbled as he came: “Entire squad dead… Kriffing traps… How am I supposed to retrieve this tablet all by myself?” He was a brave man to have penetrated these forgotten depths alone…

And Murlesson recognized him, even through the uniform, the scars that marred his face. “T-Ten!?” Shock struck him to his core. He’d thought everyone dead!

Tenkobu swung his flashlight and rifle around, startled. “What- who-” He stopped as the light fell on Murlesson’s face; he squinted into the light. “Mur…lesson?” For a brief instant, they stared at each other, and there was the beginning of surprised wonderment on Ten’s face – there certainly was on Murlesson’s face.

Then a look of pure rage filled Tenkobu’s face and he hefted his rifle. “ _You_!! What are you doing here!?”

“I… Ten, what are you…” Adrenaline rushed through him, and for a moment he almost couldn’t hear, blood pounding in his ears in panic.

“How dare you, you traitor!? I trusted you! They all trusted you! To their deaths!”

Murlesson’s mouth fell open. “I-”

“How could you!? You killed Nel! He was on that shuttle, you traitorous cowardly scum! So many were on that shuttle, and you _killed_ them!”

“I- no, I swear, Ten, I did not! I tried to stop it-”

“Sure you did!” Ten frothed, taking a step closer. His rifle was trembling in his grasp, and it looked like he was going to shoot any second. “Thought you could make a clean getaway, didn’t you? Killed Netokos and went to run all by yourself like the son of a schutta you are!”

Murlesson was regaining control over himself; his body was very still, but tensed like a wire, ready to block the shot, jump out of the way, whatever he needed to do. The darkness seemed to grow darker around him. “There was another Sith Lord. She took me. I couldn’t do anything. I tried.”

“I don’t believe you!” Ten took another step closer, teeth bared, tears running down his face – and froze, glancing at Murlesson’s belt, where his lightsaber hung in plain view. “You… you’re…”

Saying ‘it’s not what you think’ would be a transparent lie, and incredibly ineffective. But he couldn’t think of what to say to make Ten stand down. “Ten – please, listen-”

“You’re one of them!” Tenkobu roared. “You always were! You were never what I thought! How could I have ever trusted you- You’re no better than Netokos-”

“Enough!” Murlesson cried, straightening to his full height. The shadows crawled around him menacingly, sliding around the stones and coffins to surround Tenkobu, bearing down on the small light of his flashlight. One small light in the darkness, about to be overwhelmed and swallowed up.

He’d not been through everything just to be dragged down again by a weak, ultimately-insignificant piece of his past.

Tenkobu froze, fear beginning to blossom on his face. But not enough. With a snarl, he lifted his rifle and began to shoot.

Murlesson blocked the first shot with his bare palm, dissipating the energy with the Force; the second and third went wide; the fourth never came as he ripped the rifle from Tenkobu’s grasp with a flick of his wrist. The flashlight went flying, casting only a faint ambient illumination of the chamber from the corner where it spun to, just enough to see movement by. Wind began to whisper around Murlesson as he took his own step forward. Tenkobu cried out in rage and charged him, apparently intent on attacking the _Sith Lord_ with a combat knife and, if it came down to it, bare hands.

Murlesson bared his teeth just a little as he redirected the Force, and Tenkobu was flung backwards into the wall. But he picked himself back up and kept coming. Just as stubborn as ever, but no longer possessed of the steadiness that had distinguished him as a leader among the slaves; it had been replaced by a reckless darkness that rivaled Murlesson’s own. But he didn’t have _power_.

Murlesson seized him in the Force and lifted him into the air as he struggled uselessly. The wind wailed in the enclosed space, and Murlesson let out a laugh that was half a snarl of his own. “I never asked to be a Sith Lord. Even if I was always different. But now I am, and if I falter for even one moment, I die. So many of them want to kill me just for the crime of existing.” He laughed again, hysterically, voice cracking, then coming back in a deep hoarse hiss. “You’re right, though. I have become them. I have become them to destroy them. I will be the very best one, the most cunning, the most powerful. I’m going to kill them all. Every last one. And not one person is going to get in my way. _Definitely_ not you.”

This wasn’t a fair fight. It wasn’t a fight at all. Ten was so hopelessly outclassed, and yet he’d been brave enough – or stupid – to attack anyway. But this… was murder. Worse than murder.

And he had no choice. Ten was a loose end that would absolutely definitely one hundred percent come back to haunt him at the worst possible time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Mur-”

He crouched on the floor, shrouded in complete blackness, his face in his hands. Ten’s body lay somewhere over there, empty. He took a shuddering breath. For the first time, he was really doubting himself. He _had_ to do it. It was necessary. But he… he was half-broken to start with. At what point would his grim vocation shatter him entirely?

Not all the energy from the blaster shot had bled into the Force, and the burn mark on his palm throbbed in time with his heartbeats.

Well, it was probably the last time anything like _this_ would happen. He had no more connections to his past. He didn’t intend to get attached to anyone else. If he someday had to kill Khem, or Revel, or even Rylee, he would do it with no outward remorse.

In the dark, all alone, no one could see if he was crying or not.

It was no trouble at all to sneak past the Republic forces waiting outside. On his way back out he’d seen the bodies of other Republic soldiers, no doubt the rest of Ten’s squad, killed by the traps. He left the tablet Ten had come for in plain view by the entrance and slipped into the woods. He turned back and projected his voice. “Hey you. Present by the door.”

The soldiers immediately started pointing their blasters at the undergrowth around them, and one of them approached the tablet warily, like it was a bomb about to go off. “Show yourself!” another one shouted.

“Your recovery team is all dead,” Murlesson told them. “Don’t go into the crypt. Unless you feel like being stupid.”

“Who are you!? What are you doing here!?”

He didn’t answer, watching them silently.

“At least we have the intel,” the one with the tablet said to his superior. “If the voice is correct… the team won’t have died in vain.”

Murlesson scoffed miserably to himself. People died in vain all the time. In a year, ten years, a thousand years… no matter how the ripples of destiny rolled, who would remember these tiny life-and-death struggles? What was the point of it all? Life was vanity, ugly and futile. Anyone who said otherwise hadn’t felt the weight of its atrocities on their back.

And yet he would continue fighting tooth and nail to keep living as long as he could, like a cowardly hypocrite.

He ran. _Frakking drukking Sithspit!_ He’d underestimated how long it would take Anathemos’s assassins to find Zavros, and monitoring Republic comms had been his only clue that he was late. Anathemos had made no real attempt to coordinate, probably content to have his stupid holocron. If the girl died, Murlesson would be very angry with him. Never mind, he was already very angry with him. He should never have listened to Maliss, should have done the entire thing with his own resources. The only really lucky thing was that he’d been able to respond to her distress call before any of her Masters did. “Zavros. Can you head east at all? I’m headed to your position.”

“No can do, Kallig,” she panted in return, clearly running somewhere. “I’m cut off. Across the bridge, by the cliff to the north.”

“Hold on,” he pleaded with her. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Roger!”

He ran like he’d never run before. Curse this planet and its semi-impassable forests! It was going to be impossible to keep his hood on – not that he needed it in the rapidly gathering twilight.

Ahead, across the bridge she’d been talking about, he could hear the hum of lightsabers. There she was, blazing defiantly with her twin blue sabers against four assassins in dark armour. He crashed through their line and skidded to a stop by her side, lightsaber out, defending her. “Sorry I’m late!” His voice cracked on the work ‘late’ and he blushed as he panted for air. Crap. If he hadn’t been late, he wouldn’t have this problem.

She gasped, horrified, backing away from him. “Sith! I should have known this was some kind of trap!”

“It’s not a trap,” he argued, lying baldly, trying to keep his eyes on all four assassins at once. “I really am here to help you.”

“You’re not really going to protect me against your own people!?” she cried, but she hadn’t stabbed him yet.

“Surely the idea of Sith opposing other Sith isn’t that surprising to you?” he asked sarcastically.

She snorted, taking a more battle-ready stance. “No, now that you mention it. I guess it’s not so unusual for villains to be at each other’s throats.” He rolled his eyes.

The assassins had pulled back slightly on his arrival. He didn’t know what their exact orders were, or whether they even knew about him. “With all respect, my lord, we have orders to see this girl dead. Please don’t make a fuss.”

A _fuss_? He planned to object _strenuously_. And violently, if necessary. “If you want this Padawan, you’ll have to go through me, first.” That should be dramatic and white-knight-ish enough for her to approve.

“My lord- you’re not seriously going to- This is treachery! Lord Anathemos will hear of it!”

“You heard him!” Ashara cried, stepping forward until she was almost protecting _him_. “We’re not going down without a fight!” There was something… endearing about the person he was trying to save stepping up in his defense, really.

What, they were seriously going to fight him? To the _death_? If they didn’t fall back after crossing blades with him, well, that was on their own stupidity. And Anathemos for not briefing them properly.

They lunged. He twirled his saber and batted away the two on the left, then stabbed towards one of the ones on the right; he knew Ashara was good with her blades, but he’d never seen her in real life-or-death combat before, and these were, after all, assassins. The more pressure he could take off her, the better.

But fighting two-and-a-half opponents was more than he’d handled himself since that one dire moment on Korriban. In the moment was only ducking, parrying, counterattacking, lightsabers singing an angry chorus through the trees. His boots slid between stances on the earthy ground, raising the smell of trampled moss, and the Force surged around him, pushing them back, pressing on their minds, weighting their movements. They were still unreasonably agile, and well-coordinated with each other, spinning away from him when he got too close, locking blades with his with a venomous buzz as lightsabers scraped against each other.

They weren’t giving way. They really were serious. Well, so was he. He hissed, jabbing forwards, hastily backpedaling, spinning his blade to counter the other one he was fighting. They were trying to manoeuvre the two of them so that they were separated; he pivoted instead, placing Ashara behind him. He could feel her presence flickering like a flame in the wind, flaring bright with conviction and then wavering with fear, heard her breath come uneven and gasping. Ha… fear gave an edge to his own power, and he made a spinning slash, lunging low, and one assassin fell, failing to parry. He felt Ashara stumble backwards into him and after a brief moment of panic managed to steady them both, sweeping up to block his remaining enemy’s strike as she used him to push herself towards her opponents again. A moment later he heard a scream; she had struck true and now it was two on two. But now the two against them were enraged from their losses.

He twirled his blade as he drove forward again. Somewhere inside him, he vaguely hoped that she was impressed; some part of him was showing off a little now that he was confident of victory. He wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t even able to watch him, she was fighting for her life maybe for the first time. He certainly didn’t want to distract her now. The assassin rallied with rage, assaulting him with a rain of blows – but though he was slowed, he didn’t stop, parrying, blocking, waiting for the instant he could turn the tables- In a blink, his opening had come, and he’d already slashed, spinning his saber over his head and down across his opponent’s chest. He spun to help Ashara deal with the last one, crashing into the middle of the duel with a shin-kick and a stab. She’d been holding her own, but now they would fight him together.

The assassin fell back, all his aggression melting as he realized he was alone, trying to disengage and flee. Murlesson wasn’t allowing any of that, hounding him until he knocked the lightsaber from his enemy’s hand. “Please! I relent! Lord, Jedi, don’t kill me.”

“Of course,” Ashara said at once, sheathing her sabers. “The Jedi way is mercy.”

Murlesson’s face hardened. The others were all dead, his standing with Anathemos couldn’t get any lower, and he did not need this filth getting away to whine. “ _I_ am not a Jedi.”

He swung, and the Sith screamed as he died. Ashara winced and looked away, though she’d been fine with killing the other three. “You even kill your own kind without remorse,” she said with disgust. Disgust didn’t bother him, even if he didn’t understand it.

He shrugged, checking to make sure they were all really dead, though he could feel it in the Force already and it was difficult to see in the sudden darkness from the lack of lightsabers. “He would have continued chasing you if allowed to live, or his master would have killed him. Surely you know how relentless the Sith can be… because they must.”

“Because they must?” She snorted. “I’m pretty sure half of them do it for fun. Sadistic psychopaths…”

“You’re not wrong, but _I_ at least must,” he said. “Ever since they caught me escaping slavery and forced me into this life, I only do what I must to survive.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I guess I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” She paused, then rallied. “What do you want with me, anyway? What did _they_ want with me?”

They were all dead, and he stood up to talk to her properly. Time to pull out the charm, of the sort he thought she would respond to – naive and awkward- and stopped short, staring.

“What!?” she demanded, hands on her hips, looking like she was seconds away from drawing on him again.

“Er… sorry,” he mumbled, only half-acting. “You’re even prettier than I… nevermind.” He’d thought she was rather pretty from a distance, but she was _very_ pretty up close in the faint moonlight, and he was a little bit thrown. Was this a blush he felt? Since when did he blush at a girl?

 _She_ blushed and crossed her arms and huffed. “Shut up! You haven’t answered my questions yet.”

He coughed awkwardly. At least all this embarrassment was helping his act. “Right, yes… I’m afraid we were after the same thing – the ghost in the Jedi enclave.” He retied his hair back in its little ponytail, trying to look presentable. It might actually be getting too long if it kept falling out in battle.

“The ghost?” She squinted at him. “What good would the ghost be to you?”

He looked away, pretending to be hesitant. “Where to start… Hm. Do you know of Darth Thanaton?”

“Yes, and…?”

“He’s trying to kill me. And I’d really rather not die, so I’m looking for all the strength I can find. I’m actually a history student, or would be if people would stop _trying to kill me –_ and the ghosts of ancient Force-users know a lot. And I know you’re the only one who can summon it.”

She frowned. “I don’t think this ghost will talk to you, even if you were able to enter the Jedi enclave.”

He looked at her with pleading eyes, or as pleading as his dour yellow irises could get. “I don’t mean you any harm, any of you. All I want is to talk to the ghost. Or try to.” He clasped his hands and half-bowed towards her, almost overdoing the meekness. “Please. Please let me try. This is my only lead right now.” That, at least, was true.

She sighed and frowned and walked in a little circle; the moonlight gleamed on her horns and lekku. But she’d let most of her guard down around him. It really was quite astonishing. Her masters wouldn’t dare do that. “I don’t know…” He waited. “Well… you saved my life, even if I still don’t trust you. But they’ll never let you in, you know, even _if_ you did save me. It would take time for you to prove yourself.”

“I don’t have time,” he begged. “He doesn’t know where I am right now, but as soon as he finds out… I’m dead. I promise, I won’t hurt anyone.” Except in self-defense, but that should go without saying.

She sighed again. “Sith-”

“Murlesson,” he said.

“Huh?”

He’d mentioned his name when he’d answered her distress call; names helped establish trust. “My name is Murlesson Kallig.” In case she just forgot.

“Um, yeah, I’m just going to keep calling you ‘Sith’ for now.” Rejected. Oh well. “Anyway, fine. I’ll talk to my masters and see if they’ll make a brief exception. You pull anything funny, and they’ll stop you.”

“They’ll kill me?” he asked pointedly. No euphemisms. She should realize what she was saying about this person she seemed to feel a little sympathy for.

She winced. “I mean, yes, that’s normally how we stop Sith. So no Dark Side stuff!”

He put up his hands. “I’ll be good. Promise.” She was already warmer to him than he’d hoped, so this was going pretty well. “When do you want me to come by?”

“I’m not going to ask how you got my frequency, but I’ll call you,” she said. “Expect an answer tomorrow.”

He nodded, and tilted his head. “I think the Republic has finally come to save you.” He could hear soldiers approaching, noisily. “I’m going to make myself scarce. Please don’t forget me.”

“How could I?” she asked sarcastically, as he stepped back into the forest and faded from sight.

She called him the next morning. “My masters say you can make your case to them, as long as you come alone, but they really don’t think it’s a good idea. You sure you want to risk your life like this?”

“It’s risk my life with the Jedi, or risk my life with the Sith. The odds are pretty evenly against me,” he said. “At least the Jedi are more likely to warn me before they try to kill me.” Sith knew better than to do that.

She was silent for a moment. “You suffer a lot as a Sith, don’t you?”

This was suddenly a lot more personal than he was happy with. “I’ll be there in an hour. Alone.” He realized they were probably preparing for him, making sure that they would be able to kill him if he seemed even slightly suspicious. He was going to have to fight for his life at some point. Whatever. Mondays.

He was there at the appointed time, approaching the ancient structure of the enclave alone with his hood up. Jedi and Padawans glared suspiciously at him in his worn black robes. He tried to make himself look weak and inoffensive.

Ashara met him at the door. “You actually came. I’m impressed.”

“I don’t have much to lose,” he said, looking down. At least he’d impressed her with something. _No, irrelevant_. “All I can do is ask, can’t I?” It was a much easier plan than conquering the enclave by force, and Ashara would never agree to assist him then – and she might even resist him to her death. Now if only the Masters could unbend for half a minute… he might not even have to kill anyone today. Wouldn’t that save everyone a lot of effort?

Master Ryen came forward with a human Jedi, Ocera, looking even more miffed than usual. “The Jedi Enclave is no place for a Sith.”

He bowed. “All I ask is an interview with your ghost, Master Jedi. I have no quarrel with the Jedi or the Republic.”

“We shall see,” Master Ocera said. “The Darkness within you…”

Murlesson let him trail off, waiting patiently. Could he detect his true power through the veil he kept it clamped under? Probably not.

“What is it you truly seek?” Ryen asked. “What will this ghost grant you?”

“Power,” Murlesson said. No point in dissembling, even if it was the most stereotypical answer he could have given. “As your Padawan no doubt told you, I am being hunted by Darth Thanaton. I have found the knowledge of the dead to be very useful in staying alive.”

“And should you stay alive, you eventually intend to kill him?”

Murlesson shrugged. “It’s him or me now. If he catches me… I will try.”

“And should you kill him, what will you do?”

Murlesson narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re trying to gauge whether you’re releasing a worse scourge on the galaxy than Thanaton if somehow I happen to win. Yes, the Darkness within me is heavy. It always has been, and always will be. I have no intention of giving it up. But on the other hand, I’ve come here alone, as you asked, I saved your apprentice- er, Padawan, and I’ve been nothing but polite.”

Ocera growled. “We will not be manipulated, Sith. And your kind are known for lying and betraying.”

“What good does lying do me here?” He hadn’t told them the whole truth, but really, honestly, as much truth as he’d told them was the best way to get them to do what he wanted. He hoped.

“This way,” Master Ryen said finally. “We will be watching you. I know you have not told us everything.”

He inclined his head respectfully and followed.

They came to a deep chamber under the enclave; it might have been a tomb once, but now it was simply empty. Master Ocera flipped the lights on, and Ashara stepped forward.

“I’ve only done this once before, and it was an accident, so… fingers crossed, I guess,” she said, and knelt in the centre of the room with her hands clasped together. The lights flickered. Ryen and Ocera took a place on each side of the chamber’s only door.

The lights dimmed, and a ghostly shape flew at Ashara. “Child! I thought told you never to summon me again! Leave me in peace! Keep your Jedi away from my grave!”

“Please, I’m sorry,” Ashara stammered, trying not to shrink back in fear. The ghost was a Togruta, like her but male – family relation, perhaps? Awkward that he was a Sith, as his armour seemed to suggest. Either that, or Jedi fashion had changed a lot over the centuries. “This Sith needed to speak with you.”

Murlesson stepped forwards, but he could sense already – the ghost was on the verge of snapping. Perfect.

“Your apology is worthless!” shouted the ghost. “You must die!” It coiled to strike.

The Jedi masters lit their lightsabers, though what would that do against a ghost? Silly Jedi conditioning. Murlesson flung himself between Ashara and the ghost. “I won’t let that happen!”

“What – who are you!? What are you-”

“Calm down!” Murlesson cried, hoping to have the opposite effect.

“Calm!? _Calm!?_ You miserable little- Aaaagh!”

Murlesson gritted his teeth and pulled the ghost into himself with a desperate wrench. Pain shot through him, searing his soul, and he screamed – he hadn’t set up the ritual properly in his haste – hadn’t planned to set it up properly, he needed this to happen before anyone realized it _was_ happening. But… _gods_ … He was going to be torn apart, even with the strength of the other two ghosts, and his not-inconsiderable personal capabilities…

He found he was lying on the floor, curled into a ball, hissing through his teeth as the pain left him. The Jedi were standing over him, the Masters with lit sabers, Ashara with a worried expression.

“Sith… what did you just do?” she asked softly, tremulously.

He dragged himself to his knees painfully. His whole body ached. “The only way I could think to save you was to bind the ghost to myself.” He affected greater weariness than he felt; power was already beginning to surge through him, mingling with that he’d already taken, making him light-headed, even though it also made him ache more. “It’s not what I wanted, but… it has happened on occasion. And… it _is_ power of a sort. I might be able to survive Thanaton now.”

“Power you cannot be allowed to take,” Ryen said, raising his lightsaber. “You were permitted to _talk_ to the ghost, not take it with you. You are too strong now. We cannot unleash you on the galaxy.”

“What, you want to exorcise me?” he demanded sarcastically. “Oh, no, my mistake. You just want to kill me.” He suddenly lost control of his frustration – allowed himself to lose control of his frustration. “I’ve done _nothing_ against you – _nothing_! Could everyone in the universe just stop trying to kill me!!” He spun fluidly to his feet, double-bladed lightsaber sweeping into his hands, robes swirling around him. “I didn’t want to fight you! I don’t want to fight _anyone_! I just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask!?”

“And now we see your true colours… Be silent, Sith,” Ocera commanded him, sliding forward on the offensive. “Your suffering will be at an end soon enough.”

“ _You sound just like Thanaton!!_ ” He found tears in his eyes, tears of outrage and resentment, even though he’d expected this to happen. “ _You_ shut up! Leave me alone!”

“Ashara, go,” Ryen said, and she hurried away – though not far, he could tell by her aura.

His own aura flared through the shroud he normally placed on himself, swelling monstrously with the new strength he’d stolen. They hesitated, eyes widening as they reassessed him – and he crashed down upon them with a storm of betrayed hate. The flagstones of the floor splintered with the force of his Force as he stomped forward, jabbing at them both, driving them back. “Leave me _alone_!”

Their inner light was shining, calm, trying to penetrate his cloud of darkness as they countered, far smoother and more confident than anyone he’d fought since Kel Reu Giri. But he was thrice as strong in the Force as then, and their powers could not touch him. His hatred surged forward, black and cloying, though it couldn’t overwhelm them either. The buzz and hiss of lightsabers reverberated in the relatively small space; now there he was outmatched heavily. He had no time to think, beset on both sides; could only duck and spin and thrash like a trapped serpent, striking out at any opening that presented itself.

His recklessness was about to get him killed, but he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t have their experience, their training. All he had was wild desperation, so he let himself fall into it, incoherent and gasping convulsively for air. “No, no, no!” He wheezed and blocked; Ocera had come within a hair’s breadth of slicing his arm off, and he lashed out in return, kicking him in the knee. He’d barely expected to connect, but the knee bent sideways and Ocera fell with a yelp of pain.

“Ocera!” Ryen cried, stepping forward to defend his fallen ally. “Stay back, Sith!”

“Make me!” Murlesson fell back briefly, then snarled and lunged again. Ryen had lost his support, but if Ocera were able to heal himself and rejoin…

Ryen was pushing him back now, using his greater weight and experience to force him into the wall. Murlesson growled and pivoted, trying to break free, to give himself space, and won it. High, low, their sabers batted back and forth, trying to find a weak spot. Ryen locked sabers, leaning in, physically pushing him down. Murlesson screamed in frustration in his face and shoved him off, trying to catch him with the back blade, and as Ryen drew back to try another angle, he shot forward, as if to headbutt him, and stabbed.

Ryen choked, breath rasping from his throat as he stood frozen in pain. Murlesson, also rooted in shock, forced himself to move, withdrawing his blade and jumping back well out of reach. Even if the Jedi had been struck a deathblow, he was still big and strong physically and in the Force, and there was no telling what he might do with his final moments.

But Ryen swayed, eyes closing, and fell heavily. Ocera was trying to drag himself to his feet against his still-dislocated knee, sweating profusely. Murlesson advanced on him, weathering the Force push that blasted past him, and stabbed him too.

And then he slumped with weariness against the wall, sliding down to the floor like a puddle of darkness. Ashara was still out there. A whole enclave of Jedi was still out there. But he needed a breather. He was shaking with fear and adrenaline. He’d _survived_ , just a little longer. Now if he could just keep from crying about it…

There was a gasp from the door, and he lifted his head to see Ashara staring, stricken, at her fallen mentors. “Master Ryen… Master Ocera!” she cried. “You killed them! You killed them both!”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out – he wasn’t sorry at all, but social lubricant, even in this dark and miserable situation. He still needed her in order to get out of here. “I had no choice. They _attacked_ me. Why would they do that? I wasn’t going to do anything to them.”

“Wh-what have you done… What have _I_ done!?” She raised her hands to her face, looking like she was going to cry herself. “Th-there is no emotion. There is only peace. Th-there is no death… only the Force.”

He raised himself to his feet, leaning on the wall still, tired to the bone. “What now? Are you going to try and kill me too?”

She gave a wretched non-laugh. “If my masters couldn’t, how can I? Oh… Force. I don’t know what happens now. What are you going to do?”

“Leave,” he said shortly. “I have all I came for.”

She stiffened and blocked his path. “You manipulate me, kill my masters, and then just _leave_? My life as a Jedi is over!”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” he demanded.

“Take me with you!” she cried, getting in his personal space.

Even upset, she was really pretty; those brown eyes were so clear and earnest and he’d never seen them this close before. But his personal space was his. He took a step back, let himself consider the notion that he’d held out on actually thinking about since he’d first seen her. “I… guess I could do that. Seeing you fight… I think the Jedi were only holding you back. You could be so much more than you are now.” He actually really wanted her to come along. She was so fascinating, and intriguing, and temperamental, and – he still had to admit she was really pretty. There was no logic to it. She was a Jedi, was stubborn enough to go on being a Jedi even around him, and he had no interest in converting her – he honestly didn’t care as long as she didn’t try to kill him – but a Jedi with a Sith was asking for trouble from everyone. And he _still_ wanted her to come.

Ah well, it wasn’t without precedent; Aristheron was also making it work somehow. “But… you trust me enough to come with me?”

She sighed. “I… don’t. But… what choice do I have? Once the others find out what I’ve done, I’ll be… I don’t know. Exiled, I guess. And I don’t know what I’m doing outside of life in the enclave, I have no experience. I’d rather stick with you. You seem… You really were going to keep your word, weren’t you? If you’ll have me along… wherever you’re going. ”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, looking sidelong at her shyly. “You can come if you want.”

“One thing first,” she said. “I won’t go against the Jedi teachings. If you want me to do that, to become fully Sith, you may as well kill me now.”

He turned away, completely disinterested. “I could not care one bit less what teachings you follow. Though I expect we will have some very lively discussions, if you were willing to talk about it.”

“Let’s go, then,” she said, apparently not willing to talk about it yet. “Let’s get out of here before we get arrested.”

“Follow my lead,” he said, and shrouded himself in the Force, willing anyone and everyone to pay no attention to him, or Ashara behind him. It didn’t work quite as well on Jedi as it did on the average sentient, but all he got was dirty looks like when he’d walked in. Absolutely no suspicion as to why the masters were not with them anymore, no moves to stop him or the Padawan following him.

It was awkward that he only had the one borrowed speederbike; she had to sit behind him, clinging to his waist, and it made him nervous even though he didn’t know why. And once they were on their way, she was full of questions. “So what do you do, fighting Darth Thanaton like that?”

“Right now I’m going around, looking for ghosts to consult and/or consume, and building my power base. He doesn’t know I’m still alive, I think, but that can’t last.”

“How do you get around, do you have a ship?”

“Yes, she’s called the Viper. I have a pilot named Andronikos Revel. He’s a pirate, I think.”

“That’s exciting. Anyone else on the ship?”

“A Dashade, Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, devourer of the rebels at Yn and Chabosh, consumer of the Dromund system,” he recited in a mocking sing-song voice. “He’s actually… it’s complicated. He’s now sharing his body with my former master, who tried to steal _my_ body in a ritual that, fortunately for me, went horribly wrong.”

“Uhh…”

“I told you it was complicated. He’s a monster, but I’m fond of him, though of course someday he’ll try to kill me. Zash, my ex-master, is a scheming witch, and we hate each other intensely. She’s still compelled to obey me because of Khem, though. She’s still useful to me, and I don’t know how to separate them, so this is the situation, and they have to live with it.”

“That is super weird,” she said. “Do they take turns, or do it both at once?”

“If the voice sounds like a Wookiee gargling rocks, it’s Khem in control. If it’s in Basic, it’s Zash. I also have a pair of rather dull apprentices named Kaal and Corrin, although they’re away on assignment right now, and…” He stopped. She didn’t need to know about the cult or the office yet. Maybe after she’d gotten a bit more adjusted, or maybe she’d leave quickly and never need to know. “Anyway, do you like history?”

“I actually really like it, but I always liked martial arts better.”

“Maybe we can help each other, then. I’ll teach you Sith history, and you can help me with my combat skills.”

“But… you killed…”

“I rely a lot on my power in the Force. I only started learning to fight with a lightsaber a few months ago. I’m not actually that good, and I could really use the help.” Force forbid he ever encounter the Eye of Tulak again, or anything like it.

“Huh. Okay.”

“And if you like history, you’ll find life aboard my ship a lot more interesting.”

“Got it! …So, what do you do for _fun_?”

He snorted. “What’s ‘fun’? I don’t have time for ‘fun’.”

“Really?” she gasped. “That really is terrible. No wonder you’re so stressed out.”

“I’m _kidding_ ,” he grumbled. “I watch holodramas so that I’m not completely out of the loop on all this ‘pop culture’ stuff.”

“You’re really weird,” she said. “I don’t think any other Sith could be like you, and I’ve only known you for a few minutes.”

He was silent for a little while. “No, I don’t suppose they are.” He paused again, on a different, less introspective track. “Although who’s to say other Sith don’t watch holodramas? Maybe Thanaton is secretly passionate about model spaceships and cake. _You_ don’t know.”

She managed a giggle. “I guess I don’t.”

When they finally returned to the Imperial base, Elios Maliss stood in the gate, smirking. Probably in the process of betraying him, if the soldiers and lesser Sith with him were anything to go by.

Murlesson sighed. Mondays.


	13. Historical Destroyer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a slow, self-indulgent chapter, considering there is NO main story quest in it at all lol. Hope you like Ashara! I realize they wouldn’t put all this slow resource management and development in an action rpg, but I’m making use of it because I think way too much about logistics in stories. And then, oops, an action scene showed up out of nowhere. Do you think it’s too big? I kind of wanted it to be shorter.
> 
> Listened to a lot of Disturbed writing this! I had obtained two new CDs and they make good background music, though some of it shows up more thematically later…

Chapter 13: Historical Destroyer

Maliss’s smirk widened into a smug grin as Murlesson dismounted the speeder bike, Ashara following him. “Excellent. Truly remarkable. My lord, you are utterly clever and resourceful. You turned the Jedi!”

This could get complicated very quickly if he didn’t shut it down. “If this is what it looks like, you should know that you’re not going to live very long.”

Maliss tempered his grin with insincere regret. Soon to be made real regret. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, but you were ‘dead’, and Darth Thanaton made a better offer. He’s made me a lord.” Of course he had – offering a worthless title to a worm who would soon be dead was well worth learning that the bug he’d tried to squash was still alive. And _Thanaton_ didn’t have to deal with Maliss on a regular basis. “Unfortunately, he’s also asked that you be executed. My regrets.”

Murlesson rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, Ashara. I have to take care of this.”

“I’ll help,” she said grimly. “Sounds like this guy sold you out.”

“It wasn’t exactly unexpected,” he said, irritated that he’d still let it come to this. He’d been sloppy about Maliss, even if the man had been vaguely helpful. But Murlesson didn’t need the gossip and near-useless advice of obvious sycophants to get what he wanted. He wasn’t going to do _that_ again. He hoped he hadn’t just shortened his life by too much. “Let me go in first, you pick up the stragglers.” He took a moment to surreptitiously hit his comm behind his back, alerting his crew.

“Got it,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“ _Maliss_!” he bellowed, leaping forward unnaturally high and landing with a shockwave that sent soldiers flying. His new strength rocketed through him, boiling out in a wave of seething darkness. “I’ve had a very bad day, so you know what? I’m _glad_ you decided to betray me. I’m glad you’re giving me a target to vent my frustrations on! Thank you for giving me justification!” He’d always wanted to kill him. “You, get out of the way unless you want to be collateral damage!”

Well, that got some of the soldiers to think twice about obeying the soon-to-be-dead rakghoul bait. But Maliss was still smiling, still confident. “So pleased you’re running headlong to your death… gllk!”

Murlesson grabbed him by the throat in the Force, and Maliss flailed briefly before twisting away, the schutta. And now there were four Sith closing in from both sides. Teeth clenched, lightsaber whirling, he held them off, cold hatred and hot anger pulsing through him.

A blaster shot struck one in the back of the head, dropping the Sith with a puff of smoke. Murlesson looked up to see Revel, blaster aimed, a chuckle on his lips, and Khem Val rushing to battle, broadsword raised. He nodded to them as Khem took on two of the Sith who had been fighting him. Ashara had been fighting the remaining soldiers, or at least keeping them busy, sabers swinging as she blocked their shots, and now Revel turned his attention to them too, taking them out from behind before they realized they were under attack from two sides.

These Sith weren’t even as good as Anathemos’s assassins, and he slashed through one’s guard from head to navel as Khem overpowered another with brute force. He kicked the last one he was fighting in the chest and let Khem cleave that one’s head off, and then faced Maliss head-on. “Your turn, maggot!”

“Great lord-”

Murlesson didn’t even give him time to beg, did not need to listen to that voice for another millisecond, and struck him with the Force with all his strength in the chest. Maliss went flying backwards into a ferrocrete bunker, his chest caved in and skull shattered. Khem gurgled a grim laugh deep in his throat.

“That’s it,” Revel said. “Looks like we’re clear.”

“Good,” Murlesson said to his crew. He looked around, but the other Imperials were hanging back; fearful indifference echoed from the lot of them. Internal Sith squabbles were not to be interfered in, and he would not be accosted for the carnage. “Let’s get out of here. Leave the clean-up.” He strode past them towards the hangar, ignoring his minions. They’d follow.

So Thanaton knew about him. The period of quiet was over. He’d gained more personal power, but if he wanted to control the showdown, he was going to need more political and martial power. “Revel, get the ship ready for take-off.”

“Thanks for shooting those guys, I’m Ashara Zavros,” Ashara was saying to Revel. She looked a little shaken, but was trying to hide it behind a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet ya, Ashara, I’m Andronikos Revel. You’re coming along with us?”

“I guess I am!” she said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d like to do it.”

“You’re a good kid. Truth be told, I’ve been needing someone to help with maintenance and diagnostics, know anything about that?”

“I could give it a shot, sure!”

Murlesson stared at them until they caught up to him. “Are you done?”

“Are you always this rude?” Ashara retorted.

“He’s young,” Revel said. “Has no idea how to treat a woman. We’re working on it.”

Murlesson rolled his eyes into the back of his head. “Working on what? Get the ship prepped. We’re heading out.”

“Yes, sir, captain, sir,” Revel said sarcastically, and Murlesson gave him a tired look as he went to his room.

He couldn’t sleep that night, and at first he couldn’t figure out why. He had a headache, but not that bad. He’d sworn the others to secrecy regarding his spying on the Jedi, so Ashara wouldn’t know about it… He’d accomplished his goals on the planet… He’d checked on Corrin and Kaal’s latest report on Thanaton’s movements… The Viper was bound for Commenor, so he could develop his base there while listening for more ghost leads…

It was like a tiny edge of dry skin on the rim of a scab, the unease in his mind, and compulsively, he picked at it, even though, like a scab, he knew he would regret it. He’d killed a lot on Yavin 4. But that shouldn’t have bothered him. The Jedi might have been masters, so even though it wasn’t like fighting Satele Shan, he could be pleased at his growing strength and skill, and their conservative antagonism had what he expected, even if he’d been disappointed that it hadn’t been otherwise. Anathemos would get after him about his assassins, but he wasn’t afraid of that wizened bantha testicle. He could probably have tried harder to please everyone, but there wasn’t much that could make an ally out of a former enemy like fighting alongside them, so he actually rather preferred the outcome and what it had probably done for Ashara’s tentative trust in him. He’d just have to make a contingency plan for Anathemos.

Ten-

And there it was, the mental scab tore, unleashing a flood of misery over him, drowning him in his nest of a bed. For a minute he couldn’t even analyze it, wracked with pain, his mind screaming at him in a torrent of paralyzing guilt. The sound his neck had made when it broke – when _he_ broke it – echoed in his head, over and over, and he buried his face in his pillow and screamed out loud to try to drown it out… quietly.

He rolled out of bed and slammed his head into the metal decking, deliberately, twice. _Stupid fool of a sentimental failure!_ Ten hadn’t even meant that much to him when he was still a slave. His head rang, and he slammed it down again. And again- no. He stopped. This self-flagellation was the opposite of what a proper Sith would do. It felt far too good to punish himself, but why was he punishing himself for doing what was necessary? He ought to be vaguely pleased that he’d tied off a loose end, if he even deigned to think about it at all.

Telling himself that didn’t mitigate the internal pain in the slightest. He wanted to scream, to punch things, to tear his skin, to hit his head on the wall until he passed out. He wanted to die.

He got up, ruthlessly exercising his self-control, pushing his hair out of his face, and splashed water on his face instead. There was no going back. Sure, he could give himself a concussion, or worse, or he could keep believing in the sunk cost fallacy that was life and prepare for what was coming next.

Something in the ship caught his attention – Ashara was not asleep either; the spark of her spirit flickered in the engine room, strangely warm compared to the others, restless, anxious. She wasn’t his problem… but maybe he ought to go check on her…

He didn’t think it through too carefully for once, a little scared of what vulnerabilities he might find in his reasoning. Unwilling to admit that maybe he just wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t Zash or Revel.

The engine room door hissed open and he padded through in his sockfeet. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Ashara jumped, turning away from the diagnostic panel she’d been studying. “Um… no. I’d ask after you, but I sensed…”

Oh. He supposed that was to be expected. His little mental outburst hadn’t been very well contained. “It’s been a rough week. It’s not usually that bad.”

Her expression suggested concern still, so he headed off any other comments by hopping up onto the guard rail and crouching there comfortably. “So… um… how are you doing?”

She managed a wan smile. “I’m okay. Your ship is nice, if a little bit dim. The others have been nice to me so far. Still wondering if I made the right choice. I’m _definitely_ out of place here.”

“You’ve got five days to figure it out,” he said.

She squinted at him suspiciously. “And then what, you kill me if I decide not to join you?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “I’m a monster, but not that kind of monster. I’d need a real reason first, like if there was a danger Thanaton might squeeze you for information. But first you’d need to know something about me.”

She grimaced at the reminder that he was still a complete stranger to her, even if she didn’t know that she wasn’t a total stranger to him. “Actually, I did want to ask about you.”

“Like what?” he asked warily.

“Like, what are you really fighting for? Is it just survival, or is it something else?”

“What would you like me to fight for?” he asked, sardonic now.

“I think you’re trying to change the Empire from within,” she said. What? Where did she get that idea after all his talk about survival? Projecting? “But I want to know what kind of Empire you want to see. I mean, you can’t change the Dark Side, how do you change a whole Empire rooted in it? When you’re soaked in it so intensely yourself?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to convert me, are you?”

She frowned, half-turning away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Well, I mean, what I’ve seen of the Sith so far… is heartbreaking. I had no idea – I have to wonder why so many turn to it so easily. You’re in so much pain, I can’t even imagine. Even what I feel from you… it must be a dim echo of what you’re actually going through.”

“I neither want nor need your pity,” he said sharply.

She flinched, though more with irritation than fear. “Geez Laweeze, it’s called compassion. I’m _trying_ to _understand_ you. But seriously, wouldn’t you be happier if you could give it up?”

He glared, hunching into himself. “Just like that? And how do you propose I do that? I can’t. And I don’t want to. I know how to use the tools I’ve been given. Why would I trade them for weaker ones?”

She huffed. “The Light Side isn’t weaker…”

“Whatever. My hatred, my pain and fear, it all sustains me, gives me strength. What’s the point of being happy?”

“Um… I thought it was pretty self-explanatory?” She was thinking, but not fast enough. She’d never considered it before.

“I can try and be less unhappy, or I can be alive. Without the hatred and pain and fear and whatever, I’m just a soft, squishy worm waiting to be crushed.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, turning back to him with a spark in her eyes.

This was too personal for having known her only a day. “And what about you? Are _you_ happy?”

“What _about_ me?” she demanded, confused. “I dunno- not at the moment, but I wasn’t unhappy before…?”

He got up and stepped towards her with a raised eyebrow. “You seem pretty impatient for a Jedi. In you, I sense…” He was going to have to be careful not to give himself away. “Anger. Fear. Lingering resentment. They were holding you back, weren’t they? I’ve seen you fight. You _like_ fighting. In the Dark Side, you could finally be free to explore your full potential.” He’d started to walk around her, and she was going to turn to follow him, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place so he could lurk ominously behind her and whisper in her aural canal. “You would be a peerless warrior, if you only let out those unjustly repressed emotions.”

She shivered, but she didn’t feel particularly afraid of him. In fact, she pulled away and turned around with an annoyed look. “I’m not going against Jedi teachings or my conscience, even if I had trouble with my training. If I stick around, you’re going to have to get used to having a Light Sider on your ship.”

He drew back, amused at her predictable rejection. “I honestly don’t give a druk what you use, as long as you don’t think you can tell me what to do. I have a friend who has a Jedi Padawan following him, too. You just have to not let on to _other_ Sith what you really are. And really… the Dark Side’s freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“What?” She looked bemused. “It isn’t? Why would you say that when it’s your thing?”

“Well, you can’t do _whatever_ you want. It’ll get you killed. I killed my slave-master, broke my chains as the Sith Code says, and it landed me in bigger, more metaphysical chains. The only way to truly escape is to be on top, and the Emperor’s up there, and there isn’t room for anyone else.” He was ambitious enough to dream of killing the Emperor… and enough of a pragmatist to realize it probably wouldn’t happen. In the near future, anyway. “For everyone else… piss off the wrong people, you die. Stop pushing yourself to be stronger, you die. Neglect to plan for contingencies, slack off on your discipline, you die. And sometimes you just die anyway.” He gave a wry, crooked smile, leaning against the guard rail again. “I’m honestly not _expecting_ to live very long. I’m just planning to live as long as I can. And don’t worry. If I do die, I have plans for all of my minions, should they survive my immediate demise.” Mostly directing them to cause a little bit of trouble for the Empire, a last, petty, vengeful, posthumous timebomb. But she didn’t need to know that part.

“That’s crazy,” she said, shocked again. “That’s like… I can’t even relate to that. Sure, people say the Jedi are no fun and have no freedom, but… sounds like we have more than the Sith. We have to control our emotions – which, as you pointed out earlier, I’m bad at – but at least we don’t necessarily die if we make a mistake. We’re allowed to forgive. To grow to be the best person we can be, not the most powerful. We have our own _kind_ of freedom – everything’s a trade-off, you know? We don’t have to push ourselves on pain of death. We can find our place in the universe and find contentment in it. For some Jedi, that’s through meditation and contemplation of the Force, which I personally would find incredibly dull, but to each their own. And some Jedi, it’s through helping others, whether through social work or being spiritual guides or arbitrators or defending them in battle, which is what I think I’m called to.”

He sighed. “So we will forever be incompatible, Light and Dark, Sith and Jedi, and I don’t really care, I just want to be left alone. And I can’t even plan for that because that would be weakness.” He paused, and she paused, and silence fell, heavy and awkward. “So… still want to come along?”

She frowned a little. “You know what? I actually want to come more now.”

He made an incredulous face at her. “Why? You could go back to the Republic. No one need know what happened on Yavin 4. Even if you can’t rejoin the Jedi, you could still be with people you understand. Instead of… this morose lot.”

She gave him a little smile. “Well… I think I can help. You want to create an Empire free of slavery, right? So no one has to suffer the way you suffered, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” How much did he really care, behind the acquiescence so apathetically spoken? He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t thought about it specifically before. The Dark Side thrived on suffering. Technically he ought to be against mitigating suffering. He was _out_ to cause suffering among the Sith specifically, and the rest of the universe could take care of itself. She didn’t need to know that part, though. No one could know that part. He might actually have been able to let Ten live if he’d not monologued that part, and the realization was like an icy stab.

Fortunately she didn’t seem to notice the brief turmoil in his soul. “Then that’s something I’ll help you with.”

“And how are you going to help me?” he asked skeptically. _She_ wasn’t a economic-sociologist.

“I’ll fight in your battles with you! You’re obviously the smart one, I’ll let you figure out how to do it. I’ll offer advice if I think of any.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. Feel better?”

Her answer smile was a little bigger than before. “Yes, actually. What about you?”

He shrugged again. “Eh.” It didn’t matter. And his headache was still there. “I’ll drink lots of caf tomorrow.”

“Man, get some rest if you can! Caf isn’t a substitute.” She peered at him. “You seem… did you hurt your head?”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly.

“I can help with that, a little!” She stretched out her hand to him, and though he flinched, he didn’t stop her. A gentle wave later, and the pain that had lingered from smashing his head on the floor repeatedly faded. There was still the underlying headache, but it did feel better.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “Now stop trying to fix me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just trying to help. Oh, one more question – how should I ‘act Sith’ around other Sith?”

“Wear black.”

“That’s it? Wear black?”

He gestured to his own simple robe. “A lot of Sith do. Especially low-ranking ones. And don’t talk about peace and love and whatever, but that should be pretty obvious. Keep your aura dim, don’t be a hero.”

“Well, I’m not a very good actor, so I’m not going to try and talk about death and destruction instead. I’ll just let you do the talking.”

He nodded. “I’ll… see you later, then.”

“Night!”

She came to bother him midway through the next day. “Whatcha doing?”

“Compiling what I know of my nemesis,” he said, flicking from lists of Thanaton’s holdings to lists of known agents. He had _planets_ bowing to him, an army of Sith lords and lesser apprentices, and of course he was the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. The fingers of his influence were spread throughout the Empire, and Murlesson had in return a small business, a tiny repository of artefacts that Corrin and Kaal had filched for him, a couple of Zash’s old contacts who didn’t owe him any favours, a handful of competent but near-insubordinate minions, and two moderately-powerful allies whom he couldn’t rely on too often. His burgeoning personal power couldn’t fight the galaxy on his own. Especially since Thanaton now knew he was still up, he needed to build other kinds of power and build it _now_.

She stared at the rapidly-changing panels of information. “Can’t say I can decipher this instantly, but he has a lot, doesn’t he?”

“I’m not planning to engage with any of it if at all possible,” he said. “I don’t have to nibble around the edges to get to him, if I’m clever. But he can leverage it against me, so I need to know where it is.”

And now she was distracted. “What’s this?” Her slender orange fingers brushed against a sheet of flimsi taped up beside his monitor.

“Chatroom usernames, passwords, rerouters,” he said absentmindedly.

She laughed. “I like these, hahaha. Historicaldestroyer is probably my favourite, but urdeth1209754? Xxxlordbloodspillerxxx? Why do you have one called ilovecutebabygizka? Do you like baby gizka? I agree with you, but it just didn’t seem like something you’d advertise…?”

“You don’t think I participate in forums as _myself_ , do you?” he said. “The holonet is notoriously insecure. If I can imply that I couldn’t possibly be a young male Zabrak Sith, the less traceable I am.”

“That explains mistressoflightning779,” she said. “Also, wow, your room is really messy.”

“I didn’t ask,” he said, irritated.

“I mean, do you actually live on chips and sweet bars and caf?”

“Sometimes… Look, if you think it’s messy, _you_ pick up the wrappers. I don’t care.”

“You ought to care,” she countered. “It can’t be good for you, living like this. And you should eat real food! It’s good for you!”

“You’re not my mom,” he growled.

She put her hands on her hips. “As an athlete, a fighter, I know it’s really important to have a good diet. And Zabrak are carnivorous, aren’t they? Protein is vital to muscle growth and energy. Your body is going to regret not balancing your diet later in life. It’s probably already regretting it. That’s probably why you’re tired all the time and have to drink so much caf.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “My life is going to be short anyway, what do I care about _diet_?”

She got that look on her face again, the one that was sad for him in that weird, uncomprehending way of hers. “Murlesson…”

“I eat what I want,” he grumbled, turning back to his computer. He really needed more monitors. “I’m _fine_.”

“Ugh, fine. But food is good, and also tasty. If I made something, would you eat it?”

“Dunno.”

“I mean, I’m not a great cook, and your ship droid makes good food, but – c’mon. You can’t turn down a home-cooked meal. It’s, like, the epitome of rudeness or something.”

He took a deep breath and looked up at her in exasperation. “Ashara. I’m _working_.”

“Sorry, I’ll go away. I’m just kind of bored. Can I help at all so I’m not bored?”

He looked around, and his gaze fell on a stack of holocrons. He no longer kept them hidden away in cubbyholes, he had too many for that. “Ever read Sith philosophy?”

“Noooo…?” she said hesitantly. “Should I? Do I have to?”

“It’s what I do. Do you want to help or not?”

She shrugged. “Okay, if I have to. What should I start with?”

“Naga Sadow,” he said instantly. “Anything and everything by or about Naga Sadow. You can try Ajunta Pall too if you like but here-” he tossed a cube at her. “Start with this, and also this one, and if you finish those, do this one.”

“Whoa!” She juggled them with the Force, not having expected him to literally throw them at her. “Aren’t these priceless?”

“I knew you wouldn’t drop them.”

“Okay. I’ll get started. See you later!”

Commenor was about the same as he’d left it – and now that he had a moment to examine the socio-political landscape, rife with opportunity. The Council of the Hundred was a chaotic confluence of Commenorean oligarchy; the R&D market was huge; very little of Thanaton’s known resources were based there. The real problem was getting in, since he didn’t have any connections yet, he didn’t have the money to buy his way into anything important, and there was only so far the Force could bend bureaucratic minds. White-collar crime was really not his preferred scene. He’d just have to beg, borrow, or steal what he could.

His first windfall was finding out the merchant who bought Netokos’s manor was dumping his collection. The _entire_ collection. “Why?” he demanded, disbelieving, when Revel told him.

Revel shrugged. “Seems she’s a fashionista who thinks that space could be put to better use displaying her… whatever. Does it matter?”

“I guess not. I just… _why?_ ”

“Not everyone likes dusty old artefacts,” Ashara piped up.

“Well, I’m taking them,” Murlesson said. “All of it. I don’t care if the office doesn’t have space. It’ll give the staff there something to do.”

“My accounts…” Zash murmured in horror.

Murlesson glared at her. “ _My_ accounts, and also I’d have thought you pleased to finally have access to a collection again.”

A shudder rippled through the Dashade’s body, and Khem spoke. < _As long as you do not waste too much time on words and stones. It has been too long since I feasted_.> Ashara stared; she still hadn’t gotten used to the whole ‘consciousness switching’ thing yet and she looked fascinated every time it happened.

“That’s true,” Murlesson said. There hadn’t been much opportunity to take Khem out in the last little while, and even though he’d been given free range on Yavin 4 while Murlesson was off spying, he didn’t think he’d had much action there. “As soon as we find where to go, you’ll come with me.”

Khem nodded with satisfaction. < _Then do what you like, little Sith_.>

Murlesson nodded to Revel and Ashara. “Go get as much as you can of that sale, through whatever means necessary, and have it delivered to the office. I don’t care if you murder the couriers and hijack the speeder. I want it.”

“You’re not coming?” Ashara asked.

“No.” She didn’t need to know why. “I’ll go through it when it arrives. I have something else to do in the meantime.”

That something else was investing in a tech lab near the office. He didn’t have the money to get a really good lab, or really good researchers, but he needed something new for the operation on Nar Shaddaa to produce, and anything would do at this point. And there was no saying he had to own it outright, at this point in time. Just buying shares was enough to get started. In fact, he ought to invest in several industries. When he could. He couldn’t just blow through all his Nar Shaddaa earnings before he’d done some development on Nar Shaddaa as well. He needed to strengthen his Imperial ties to claim protection under the umbrella of the Empire’s might, so his plan was to develop new computer chips, produce them cheaply on Nar Shaddaa, and then sell them back to the Empire, making himself part of their supply lines. It wouldn’t protect him against Thanaton, but other Sith might see that he was making himself useful and at least try to use him before trying to kill him.

And then the fun part was heading down to the central planetary legislature to observe the Council of the Hundred; not to join in, he didn’t have the connections for that yet, and politics was time-consuming anyway. If he lived long enough, he’d pull strings on Commenor someday, but for now… just a bit of reconnaissance would do. He wasn’t even going to try anything terribly illegal; that risk was better saved for when he had a specific goal.

He wore his mask and had his hood up, so no one would easily recognize him afterwards. He’d repaired the mask physically, even if it was still at a fraction of its former Force presence. But it seemed that shabby apprentice robes were out of place here, and pretty soon after he’d entered the observation gallery, he was approached by a uniformed page. “Excuse me, ‘sir’,” the page said with a snobby look, “I don’t believe you’re supposed to be here.”

Murlesson drew himself up, frowning haughtily under his hood and mask. “I am the apprentice and right hand of Lord Kallig.” Make himself so pompous they’d believe the actual Lord Kallig to be a real asshole. “Do you wish him to make himself known? He won’t be pleased at the inconvenience.” He made a mental note to get some nice robes for when he had to deal with jerks like this. So he could go on playing Lord Kallig with one face and Apprentice Murlesson with the other.

The page hesitated, doubt creeping into his face. “If Lord Kallig has business on Commenor, then of course he should come himself… through the proper channels, with a proper retinue, not some… disreputable dissembler-”

“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence,” Murlesson said, getting closer and looming a bit. He raised his hand and focused the Force. “You will not remove me from the Chamber.”

“I will not remove you from the Chamber,” said the page, robotically, then blinked. “My apologies, my lord. Have a pleasant stay.”

Murlesson nodded regally and turned back to the assembling Council.

Force, the actual Council meeting was both boring and stupid. He could tell about a third of the Council members in attendance felt the same but were too dignified to embroil themselves, and about half were too idiotic to realize how stupid they were. It almost made him reconsider entering politics altogether. Would it be possible to control the Council without having to go to meetings? Control enough of the actual Council members that the planet would serve his purposes and take care of itself otherwise? And surely he wouldn’t be the first to try such a thing, which meant first he needed to find the _current_ string-puller and see to it that either he could replace them, or subordinate them, whichever was easier.

Screw this. He was going to go find military influence first. His head hurt.

The collection from his former owner’s estate did _not_ fit in the office, and he had to rent another floor – and unfortunately, it wasn’t an adjacent floor, the other tenants were too well established. Well, it was early days yet. Zash’s former ensigns seemed pleased at having something within their expertise to take care of, at least. He requested a complete inventory, of course, but it was going to take days if not weeks to get everything done properly.

Going through the crates and crates of things was… more painful than he’d expected. Even out of the context he’d known them in, he recognized enough to remember more than he cared to. Especially when he found the lightsaber he’d used on the day of the revolt.

“What’s the matter?” Ashara said, probably sensing the ripples in his soul, from where she’d been sorting holocrons in alphabetical order. He needed to go through those and find which ones he hadn’t read yet.

He held it up, then tossed it back into the crate. “The first lightsaber I ever used.”

“Oh! That’s a memento.”

“Not really. It was pretty traumatic.” His emotional fingerprints were all over it. He wasn’t touching it again if he could help it.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I have a better one now.”

He took several holocrons he’d never read, some of which he hadn’t even known Netokos had owned. The association still tainted them, and he wondered when he would bring himself to read them.

A couple days later and they were headed to Nar Shaddaa, leaving the staff to deal with the overflow of crates; he had much to do with his cult, as well. Rylee had sent him word that a Hutt was showing interest in them, and she didn’t know how to deal with it, and she was afraid to let Destris deal with it. He assured her he would take care of it. Whether good interest or bad interest, he knew better than to act carelessly around a Hutt. He had a vague idea of how the winds of power flowed in his cult’s neighbourhood, but he delved deeper now, searching for names, allegiances, past affiliations, possible weaknesses.

And there was something else he wanted to do, as well. Every Sith Lord needed a proper sanctum, and with Dromund Kaas off-limits to him at the moment, he would choose the place he was most well-established in to make his own.

“Why not a skyhook?” Ashara asked, leaning over his shoulder. She did that a lot, and as long as she wasn’t being outright annoying, he let her. Sometimes she asked questions about the holocron she was reading, and if he wasn’t too busy or frustrated, he’d answer, pleased that she was making an effort to know what he knew. She was a much slower reader than he was, though, and not as in-depth in her analysis. At least she was trying, as much as a Jedi could.

He gave her a perplexed glare. “What kind of stupid idea is that? Skyhooks are expensive and extremely insecure. Easy to find, easy to invade, easy to shut down or just blast out of the air.”

She pouted. “But that’s so far down. You’ll never get any natural light.”

“On Nar Shaddaa? _What_ natural light?” He was making plans to extend an elevator and infrastructure pipes – power, ventilation, plumbing, although on second though he should have self-sustaining back-ups – from his cult’s headquarters down to bedrock – no natural light for literal kilometers, actually – and build a private set of chambers there. There would be a ‘throne’ room, but really it would be a place where he could monitor everything under his control. He wouldn’t want for viewscreens there. And he would store some of his best artefacts there, his favourite holocrons. And then he wanted a secret door to a back area with kind of an apartment where he and his close companions could live in hiding if necessary.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Decorating is annoying.” He wanted the main chamber to be intimidating, and he knew the cliches, but actually putting the elements together to make something that didn’t look stupid was harder than he expected.

“Ooh, ooh, can I do it?” Ashara asked, leaning even closer. “You’re going for spooky and evil, right?”

“Yeah.” He handed over the controls and the seat to her and stood back to watch with his caf.

“You want somewhere you can brood broodsomely, right? Is that what this big throne is for?”

He stared at her. “What do you mean, brood broodsomely?”

“You do it all the time!” She hunched forward and mock-glared at the viewscreen, fingers steepled in front of her mouth. “What do you call that, besides brooding?”

“Thinking,” he said, vaguely amused at her impression of him. He supposed with him there wasn’t much of a difference in the end.

“You want subtle or not-so-subtle?”

“Be melodramatic. The aesthetics aren’t for me, they’re to impress visitors. Even if I’m not planning to have any.”

“So obviously everything has to be black, for starters, but what if we put a big platform for your throne, and lighting… here… and are these display shelves for your collection? What if we put them over here, and then they won’t distract from you? And have you considered making the viewscreens movable, so they, like, drop down from the ceiling when you want them, and then go out of the way when you don’t?”

“You’re doing great,” he said. “Do whatever you want and let me know when you’re done. I’ll make it happen.”

“Okay!” She was so pleased with this little thing, he almost smiled. Weird.

His comm went off. “Could use you for a moment, boss,” Revel said.

“Be right there,” he answered, and jogged up to the cockpit. “What’s the matter?”

“Call for you,” Revel said, waving at the beeping holocomm in the back of the cockpit. “Answer it before it drives me crazy, will ya?”

“I was under the impression you were my minion, not the other way around,” Murlesson said flatly, and answered it. “Aristheron.”

“Murlesson. Glad to see you. Would you happen to be anywhere in the vicinity of Zeltros?”

Murlesson glanced at the galaxy map, though he already knew he was. “Yes. Right by it, in fact. Why?” Impulsively, he brought up the planet’s file from the ship’s computer. It was right on the main route between Commenor and Nar Shaddaa, yet he knew almost nothing about it.

Aristheron’s brows drew together with displeasure. “The Kollyrion struck a mine, and we put in to this station for repairs – but a small army of mercenaries was waiting for us, about forty or so. We’re cut off from the Kollyrion, though I would not like our chances of escaping in her in her present state anyway. Would you be able to assist?”

“Yes,” Murlesson said. “Can you send me a map of the station?”

“Vany is working on acquiring a schematic; I’ll have her transmit it to you once she finds it.”

“What else should I know about the situation?” Aristheron kept shooting glances over his shoulder, and Murlesson wanted everything he could get before they were interrupted.

“I’m here with Vany, Janelle, Captain Clay, and Lieutenant Stroud. There are several civilians – station workers, mostly – trapped with us. I believe most of the station is still under the impression that nothing is wrong, but there simply isn’t enough security to deal with this threat even if the alarm were sounded.”

“And they’re _neutral_ ,” Murlesson said, as if it were a dirty word. He wasn’t liking what he found in the planet’s file.

“It’s that neutrality that allowed me to land here in the first place,” Aristheron said. “This is not exactly the heart of Imperial territory.”

“I expect that was the mercenaries’ plan all along,” Murlesson said.

“I’m inclined to agree. The civilians will be out of the way, at least, once the fighting starts,” Aristheron said. “It will be just you, me, and our subordinates against these forty. I do not know their organization, only that they appear to want me dead. They have heavy weapons, and I imagine they’ll be using them shortly. Vany has locked them out of our sector of the station, but I think not for long-”

There was an explosion and the comm went dark.

“ETA ten minutes,” Revel said. The eye-searing magenta and saffron of the planet filled the viewscreen, and he could see the distant metal form of a space station that looked tiny at the present moment, but the sensors told him was as large as a city. “We’re coming in hot. Where’re we landing?”

The comm pinged; Vany had transmitted him schematics. He skimmed through them hurriedly. It had been too long since he’d put his studies to proper use. “Docking Bay 50 is closest to Aristheron’s location. We might have to go through a couple walls.” Revel cackled at that. Murlesson poked the intercomm. “Attention crew: Aristheron is under attack, and we are about to land and go into combat to aid him. The foe is numerically superior, they have heavy weapons, but we have the element of surprise.”

Ashara popped her head into the cockpit, looking startled. “Like, we’re going into combat _now_?”

Murlesson gestured impatiently to the viewport and the massive city-like station swelling outside it. “ _Yes_. Get ready.”

“No, I don’t have clearance,” Revel barked into his comm. “You have a terrorist situation and we’re coming to neutralize it. … I don’t care, I’m putting my boss down there.”

Murlesson growled. He needed to be planning. Half his time was gone already. He jabbed the comm and joined the conversation with station control. “Either you permit me to land at Docking Bay 50, or I start being part of the terrorist problem, not the solution.”

Station control replied with a soft, sultry chuckle. “You sure we can’t change your mind? There’s more space in Docking Bay 49. There’s no need to be so violent.”

“ _No_ ,” he snarled, channeling his dark intent into the comm. “I will assist my ally in Docking Bay 50 or you will regret it.”

A sigh. “All right, then, honey. Just be careful with the other ships in there, all right?”

He hung up without further comment. He had no idea where the hostiles were, and Aristheron might have moved by the time they landed. All he could do was commit the schematics to memory and demand the Force reveal his enemies.

Ashara was waiting, wide-eyed and jittery, by the docking ramp; Khem waited impassively beside her, full of anticipation.

“Here’s the plan,” Murlesson said. “We do _not_ have heavy weapons, but we have lightsabers. We’re going to go through the wall on the right of the hangar, ascertain where the hostiles are, and attempt to hit them from the back. Use everything at your disposal to eliminate the enemy.”

“Got it,” Ashara said, gripping her lightsabers with determination. “I’ll do my best.”

He nodded grimly. If she didn’t, he’d have to defend her. No good letting his new minion get killed on her first mission. It was coddling by Sith standards, but he still needed her alive, and he _knew_ her inexperience was still stronger than her skill at this point.

The ramp lowered, the door hissed open, blowing pressurized steam, and he stormed out, past the welcoming committee of pink, frilly Zeltrons, sparing them not a glance, even if Ashara took the time to make a little apologetic wave to them. They cowered away from him, some of them with a little wail. The computer had said they were partially empathic, but it didn’t take an empath to realize he was overflowing with furious hatred, and he wasn’t keeping it particularly contained right now. Aristheron had said nothing about enemy Force-users, after all. The hangar was much brighter than he was used to hangars being, all white and chrome and striped with blue in soothing patterns. The Kollyrion was further back in the hangar, missing parts of its wing. Then he was casting his senses out and ahead, through durasteel bulkheads and irrelevant space, searching for Aristheron’s powerful rock-steady neutral-grey presence, Vany’s bright shimmer, Janelle’s artificially-clouded spirit. There! Surrounded by hostiles – not forty anymore, by this point, but still enough that he understood why Aristheron was on the defensive, possibly even retreating carefully.

He ignited his lightsaber and slashed his way through the white wall before him, heedless of the frightened squeals of the welcome wagon, and jumped through into the corridor beyond. He smelled smoke and ozone from blaster fire, heard muffled reports. The conflict was very close by, and someone had a minigun. Down the corridor to his left was another gaping hole in the wall, this one looking like it was from a rocket launcher or something. “Khem, Revel, cover that gap, attack on my mark. Ashara, come with me. We’re going to make another hole in the wall.”

“Okay,” she said, following him to the right.

He muttered to himself. “Thirty-five… thirty-three hostiles. Five friendlies… Cover… We have to split them up as much as possible. Can I… yes… But what about the rocket launcher… No, they would have done that by now…” It was not great that three out of his group of four needed to be in close range to attack effectively.

“Can I help?” Ashara asked, and he shushed her. He didn’t need the distraction right now.

“Just fight and kill. Need to block the minigun… But if they have… Right.” He paused before another open section of wall. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Ashara said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Khem… mark!” He swept his blade through the wall in a circle and kicked it in before him, taking hold of the loose circle with the Force and casting it before him like a giant frisbee. Oh, the minigun was one of Aristheron’s new additions; it was wielded by a big man with a big bushy beard. That changed things slightly. Back to his left, Khem charged in with a terrifying roar, Revel popping up behind him to offer some small covering fire. His own advance was slower, step by step, blocking blaster fire as it came, lightsaber humming like a wasp.

The enemy was staggered strategically through the space – looked like a waiting area with a pair of cafés on one end. They were making good use of cover against Aristheron’s group, but they were a bit exposed in the rear. It was going to be difficult to exploit, though, blaster bolts were flashing like a rave through the room, concentrated on one of the cafés, the air already thick with smoke. The other café was a pulverized ruin, another target of the rocket launcher. And there was another crater in the ceiling; he wondered briefly if Aristheron had pushed a rocket up there or if the rocketeer had just missed. They should be out of rockets by this point, though he wouldn’t rule out other weapons. They were using grenades, for one thing, though Aristheron and Janelle were keeping them away for now.

The mercenary leader, behind a structural pillar, took stock of the newcomers and shouted orders; a dozen or so of the mercenaries moved to new positions to fire against Khem and Murlesson, and he slowed further as he needed to concentrate. His frisbee had only taken out three men, which was slightly disappointing, and there was no real alarm from the group before them, only a slightly tighter tension. “Should have sent you with Khem,” he muttered, flinging out his hand and throwing a bench at them, making the incoming fire go wide. Ashara had no words, concentrating with all her might. But really, he could take care of himself; Khem could have used her skills more.

Aristheron rose from behind a sturdy but on-fire kabob stand, counter-charging the closest mercenaries. At first Murlesson thought he might be suicidal, even though he’d expected him to do that, but then he noticed Vany was hefting a light sniper rifle, and there was a dark-skinned Imperial officer behind her with a pistol in a two-handed grip. Janelle jumped out from behind another structural pillar, following her master into the teeth of the storm. A grenade hurtled towards them, and Janelle batted it aside with the Force; it exploded somewhere off to the side.

Murlesson hissed air in and cast forwards with a howl and a blazing crackle of lightning. Mercenaries screamed as it flashed over them, seeking them out behind cover and through armour, and then he and Ashara were upon their first line. The Force churned about him in a raging black tempest, and he drew on it recklessly. No holding back.

Now he felt them begin to falter, felt them begin to realize they were beset on three sides by powerful foes. But there were still thirty of them, and the blaster fire was beginning to singe his robes. Couldn’t have that. He shot his hand forward again, this time filled not with lightning but with pure Darkness, washing over them, knocking them backwards and out of cover, filling them with his fear and hatred and suffering. Then he reached up to the ceiling near the blast craters, fingers clawed, and _pulled_.

The Force shrieked at him, warning uselessly, and then Ashara was before him, defending him, deflecting the bolt that would have struck him in the chest – and taking a second shot herself. She stumbled, crying out, his eyes widened – and the ceiling fell in.

No time to see after her. The collapsing ruin of the floor above was still landing with a shuddering crash on top of the middle of the chamber, scattering furniture and screaming bodies. He moved smoothly forward, lightsaber whirling in blinding patterns, scything down the remaining enemies before him, snuffing out those startled, now-frightened dogs before they could rise again. His sheer power and that of his allies was rapidly overwhelming the remaining hostiles.

When the last mercenary hit the ground and stayed there, he turned back to Ashara. “Hurt bad?”

“I’ll live,” she said, with a pained grin. She’d been struck in the shin, and was holding her hands to the injury, healing it as best as she could. “Could use a kolto patch, though.”

Wordlessly, he pulled one from his belt and handed it to her, then turned to where Aristheron was approaching him. “Good to see you’re still alive.” And good that he’d begun to pay back his considerable debt to him. In fact, seeing Aristheron again was a relief for several reasons. Come to think of it, he hadn’t spoken to him since before his confrontation with Thanaton. He wondered if he ought to feel guilty about that, then decided he shouldn’t, even if other people would have. “You would probably have defeated them eventually, but this made things a lot faster, didn’t it.”

Aristheron nodded, as calm as if he hadn’t just pulled down the ceiling on everyone. “You’ve gotten stronger.” A handful of station personnel peeked in cautiously, through the door beside the first gaping hole in the wall, and entered cautiously, moving to help the surviving civilians.

“I have. But Thanaton knows I still live.”

“I didn’t know… but I hoped,” Aristheron said. He’d made a shot in the dark on him? He must really have been feeling pinched. He turned and waved over his four companions, who had been assisting with the civilians until that moment. “Allow me to introduce my subordinates, Captain Perival Clay and Lieutenant Egdan Stroud.” The black captain bowed stiffly, and the bearded giant nodded cheerfully. “Captain Clay commands my flagship, and Stroud is my chief of ground operations. But as you have seen, they are both personally competent on the battlefield.”

“Right,” Murlesson said. “I have someone to introduce as well, I guess…”

“You needn’t sound so enthusiastic about it,” Ashara said sarcastically, all done with her leg and clambering to standing, still a little wobbly. “Hi! I’m Ashara Zavros! Murlesson’s told me a lot about you and your- well, your other companions.” She turned to Janelle as eagerly as Janelle turned to her. “You must be Janelle Wouters!”

“I am!” Janelle’s face lit up with solidarity. “How long have you been with Lord Kallig?”

“A couple weeks, not very long. What’s it like with Lord Laskaris?”

“It’s pretty good, actually!” Janelle nodded enthusiastically. “He’s a very reasonable boss. I’m sure Murlesson told you, but he’s more reasonable than my former Jedi master, so I joined him because frankly, my former master is out of control and needs to be stopped. Is that what happened to you?”

“No…” Ashara looked down with a pained look for a moment. “I… still don’t want to talk about it yet, but it’s really nice to meet another Jedi out here. I’m glad I’m not the only one. Although I didn’t even get as far as you in my training, I wasn’t assigned to a master before I… joined Murlesson.”

“Isn’t he an enormous grouch?” Vany butted into the conversation, grinning.

“He is!” Ashara said, grinning back. Murlesson scowled and they all ignored it. “But I kind of like that about him. You must be Vany!”

“That’s me! Hey, Aristheron, we should stay a bit and catch up!”

“No,” Murlesson said, on edge. When the girls whined, he continued gruffly. “I read about this planet on the way in. It’s covered in pheromones. Stay too long, and you’ll never want to leave.” He glared at the Zeltrons on the other side of the room.

“I kind of don’t want to leave anyway,” Vany said. “It’s a pretty nice place! The parts that haven’t been exploded, at least!” Murlesson hated it. It was too bright and languid and new, and he was suspicious of anything that might try to mess with his head. His head was already messed up enough.

“It’s already working, then,” Lieutenant Stroud said, smirking, and Vany stuck her tongue out at him. Captain Clay coughed.

“We don’t have a choice right now,” Aristheron said. “We must at least repair the engine. I will not leave the Kollyrion here.” He glanced at Captain Clay, who bowed and hurried off.

“Fifteen minutes,” Murlesson said to his crew. “This isn’t a social call.”

< _I will wait on the ship_ ,> Khem grumbled, and left. Ashara grinned at him and turned back to Janelle and Vany. Revel glanced at them all, then shrugged and followed Khem.

“So what brought you to this area?” Aristheron asked Murlesson.

“Heading back to one of my bases,” Murlesson said. “The Force was with you, I suppose. And you?”

“I was going to rejoin my fleet after a private errand, but this trap was laid for me first. I must discover who laid it.”

“It doesn’t seem like Kel Reu Giri’s style,” Murlesson said.

“I agree, but I don’t think he can be ruled out. I _am_ still on his trail, despite my new position. Yet I have found preparing for the inevitable rekindling of war to be quite rewarding.”

“Right. Meanwhile, here I am, all my focus on Thanaton… I’m not in any position to assist in any anti-Republic-related capacity.”

“I understand.”

It was fortunate Aristheron was part of Darth Marr’s base, Murlesson reflected, as it protected him from Thanaton’s ire at his being allied to Murlesson. “Though, I was wondering… Now that you’re a full military commander, you wouldn’t happen to know of any fleets that could use a change in command, would you?”

“How do you mean?” Aristheron said.

“I need more regular old-fashioned military might if I’m going to stand up against Thanaton. So… if you know of any fleets or even portions of fleets that are being mismanaged, incompetently led, in need of new patronage…”

Aristheron frowned. “The first one that comes to mind is that of Moff Broysc, but I’m afraid he’s unassailable, despite his growing dementia – his Sith patron is too strong.” Well that sounded like more of a challenge, but he wasn’t in it for the challenge’s sake. “I will keep an ear out for you. But there was something I wanted to ask about, before I forget. I heard Darth Lachris was slain on Balmorra.”

“I heard as well,” Murlesson said, wondering why Aristheron was bringing it up.

“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you? The Jedi who fought her seemed unusually prepared, the investigation reported. Though in the end, she didn’t die by his blade – she fell into a power line.”

Aristheron didn’t _know_ anything for sure. Murlesson glared at him with a hint of bared teeth. “I’m not going to pretend I shed any tears over her death. I may have rejoiced in it. But I didn’t _do_ anything.” A blatant lie, but he believed in it body and soul. For the moment.

Aristheron nodded. “Very well. I am relieved to hear it. What was she to you? I asked before, and you declined to answer…”

Murlesson tried not to think about it. “ _She_ was the one who put me on Korriban. It was unpleasant. I was not thrilled.”

“I see. Well, Lord Volkova has already recaptured the place. The Jedi was long gone by then.”

“I heard about that too. Single-handed or something. Sounds like something she would do.”

“Aye. Her personal strength and skill are formidable. We shall see if she tempers them with anything else.”

Murlesson nodded. His allies didn’t have to like each other as long as he didn’t call on them at the same time. How funny, how they all intersected differently – he and Akuliina were of the Dark, Aristheron was of the Light… but Akuliina and Aristheron were loyal to the Empire, and he was not.

His comm was going off. “What is it now?”

“You guessed it, another distress signal,” Revel said. “This one’s from your other apprentices, though. You should come listen right away.”

“Right.” He nodded to Aristheron. “I’m off. Take care.”

“I will see you again,” Aristheron said gravely. “Be well.”

He nodded. “Ashara! We’re going!”

“Coming!” Ashara called. “Bye, Janelle!”

“Talk soon!” Janelle hollered, and Vany cheered.


	14. The Trouble With Hutts

Part 14: The Trouble with Hutts

Quesh was a disgusting cesspool of poison and smoke, but it was as far as his apprentices had managed to run after being caught stealing. Murlesson was angry, but he supposed it had been bound to happen sooner or later. Especially with a prize like the key to Thanaton’s meditation chamber. What had they been thinking!? And yet their audacity was encouraging. If they survived this, he’d start treating them like actual apprentices.

He and Khem were getting close to Corrin’s beacon, which was drawing him to an abandoned warehouse in a small town near to the Imperial spaceport. It was a good thought, if not enough. Staying in the spaceport would have been foolish, but either they hadn’t gone far enough or the town they’d chosen was too small. It would be good if they’d had the sense not to hole up in the warehouse but keeping running as long as they could, setting up the warehouse to be bait… but he didn’t have much hope of that.

There were Sith waiting outside the warehouse. Great, Cineratus was important enough to have a retinue, and guessed that Murlesson was on his way. This was just going to slow him down. “Is there any other way in?”

< _If we do not kill them, they will interrupt our fight with their master,_ > Khem said.

“How many can you deal with on your own?” he asked.

< _Several, but not all of them._ >

Murlesson growled. “Fine. Make it quick.” He dropped into a crouch and crept behind some crates towards the nearest Sith, making himself as small in the Force as he could. When he was close enough, he lunged from cover, striking his enemy with a bolt of lightning and then slicing him in half. One down, four to go.

And he could sense from the building that his apprentices were in there still, in determined, hopeless terror, and a powerful presence was with them. _Frak_. He wished he’d been able to bring Ashara, but they’d tried sparring in the cargo hold, and while she was even slightly off-balance with her leg, that was not happening, not against Sith. Even if this first lot were, in the end, nothing much. He and Khem tore through them swiftly, the Dark Side humming through him, casting them down before him. At least he was feeling in good shape to fight Cineratus.

He ran through the warehouse, lightsaber blazing behind him, running up to the offices, feeling first Kaal, then Corrin snuff out even as he came skidding to a halt in the doorway, breathing hard. “Well, frak.”

Cineratus gave him a friendly smile. “Lord Murlesson, I assure you it was nothing personal. I’d just prefer to stay off Thanaton’s hit list. Or do you really think I had nothing better to do than to chase a pair of low-level apprentices half-way across the blasted galaxy?”

Murlesson glanced over at the bodies; Corrin’s eyelids fluttered momentarily, then stopped again. There wasn’t any salvaging them. “Sounds like an easier trial than the one he gave me. Probably deadlier, though, since I’m here now.”

“Yes, I do believe one of us isn’t leaving this room alive. So, I propose a toast. To the honourably defeated!”

Murlesson restrained an eyeroll, but couldn’t restrain an eyebrow. “There isn’t a chance I could be buried on Korriban, is there?” His voice lowered into a sarcastic hiss. “I hear the tomb of Naga Sadow is vacant.”

Cineratus’s smile was tinged with the blood-lust zinging through his aura. “The odds are slim, but I could put in a good word for you.” He whirled, spinning his own double-bladed saber into a combat ready position.

“Better than nothing,” Murlesson muttered, and pulled the Force before him as a cloak, muddling the currents flowing through the room. Cineratus’s eyes narrowed, squinting at Murlesson, whom he probably couldn’t see or sense clearly anymore, and he charged. Murlesson sidestepped with a blast of lightning, and Cineratus whirled and caught it on his blade, sweeping out a Force push that sent him flying backwards. He landed on his feet in a crouch, and now Khem was attacking, heavy strokes of his broadsword slamming down on Cineratus’s guard.

But Cineratus was too good a swordsman to simply be overwhelmed with sheer strength, and after a moment to fade before Khem, seized control again and pushed Khem back with a flurry of quick jabs, putting Khem on the defensive. In another breath Murlesson was back in, forcing Cineratus to defend against both sides. Aristheron would have fought him honourably in single combat. Murlesson wasn’t Aristheron, bringing the Force to bear on Cineratus’s senses, trying to get into his head – but though he could blur his perception of him, he couldn’t break directly into his mind.

“You’re pretty good for one I’m told was a former slave,” Cineratus said. “You have skill, and power, and somehow you command loyalty from a Dashade. You’re raw, still developing, but it truly is a pity you have to die.”

“I won’t waste my breath complimenting you,” Murlesson said. “All I’m going to say is that you’re an arrogant prick like the rest of them!” Internally, the ‘raw’ comment rankled. He’d been working on his skills as hard as he could, and yet these lazy, old, well-established Sith thought fit to tell him he was still useless.

They’d regret pushing him so hard when he started getting to the point that they took him seriously. He didn’t say ‘full power’. Who knew when he’d reach full power? If he reached full power, they’d _really_ regret it.

End over end, the two scarlet double-bladed lightsabers purred and growled at each other, scraping off each other and Khem’s cortosis blade. They were backing out of the room, out to the balcony. Murlesson’s eyes were narrowed. The Force was trying to warn him – but of what, he didn’t know.

He found out in a hurry when Cineratus lashed out, kicking him squarely in the chest and knocking him over the rail. A frustrated cry erupted from his mouth as he fell to the floor below, just barely landing on his feet and skidding backwards slightly. “Son of a bantha-loving Devaronian!”

“Tch, language,” Cineratus chided, leaping after him with a Force blast that knocked him back from his feet. Kriffing Force, where was all his strength when he needed it!?

“Shut your filthy mouth,” he hissed back, as Cineratus stabbed down at him, barely deflecting the killing blow into the floor beside him. He kicked out, twisting, gritting his teeth, lashing out with a blast of lightning, driving Cineratus back enough to stand, still pouring lightning through his fingertips towards him. Khem had jumped from the balcony now, and Cineratus tried to disengage, to focus on one or the other. _None of that!_ He lunged forward, lightsaber near-forgotten, lightning-spewing hand gnarled in the strain like a gundark’s claw. Cineratus was hemmed in by a stack of storage crates, he couldn’t block all of it and defend against Khem at the same time, and it touched him, crawling over his body, rapidly wreathing him in violet sparks. Cineratus screamed, and then Khem cut his head from his body, cutting the scream short.

Murlesson sagged, panting hard, as the body fell to the floor, splashing blood over the dirty durocrete. A small cube fell from a pocket on impact – the key Corrin and Kaal had stolen. He stooped and picked it up, unsure what to make of it. On the one hand, having access to Thanaton’s private sanctum could be very useful. On the other hand, how long would it be before Thanaton _changed the lock_? Like a normal person? He wasn’t ready to face him yet, even if he disavowed other forms of strength and simply went to sneak assassin-like into his chambers.

He examined the cube further. On second thought, it was designed to be unique. It would take a great deal of time for Thanaton to replace a lock this complex, and anything less wouldn’t stop Murlesson. That didn’t solve the problem that Thanaton still knew – or knew the possibility – that Murlesson had the key.

Tempting. But frustrating. He’d make a decision later. He nodded to Khem. “Well done. Let’s get out of here.”

Zash seemed to think it would be a brilliant idea to sneak into Thanaton’s sanctum. “It would be the perfect place for an ambush. He can’t know _when_ you’re coming. He simply won’t be as surprised when you do show up.”

“Persuasive,” he grunted. “I don’t trust it.” He’d prefer a complete and total assassination.

“I wouldn’t advise facing him until you’ve gained more power, indeed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, tilting his chair back and putting his boots up on the conference table and his head back. His head hurt again. It was starting to become a chronic problem, and he wondered if he should start taking painkillers. “Find me more ghosts, and we’ll talk.”

Zash frowned at the boots on the table, but continued. “While Ashara, Andronikos, and I continue searching for rumours, you should consider replacing your apprentices. You will appear weak if you don’t try to restore what Thanaton destroyed.”

He raised his head and glared at her. “They were half-decent minions, until they slipped up, but why do I _have_ to? What’s all this about appearances? I don’t give a Hutt’s arse how strong I look.”

“If you look too weak, you could get distracted fighting off rivals who are not Thanaton,” Zash said, sounding like she was trying to hold on to her patience. Revel yawned and tilted his chair back to put his feet on the table, too.

“I have Ashara, she counts,” Murlesson said, pointing at her. She grinned; apparently that was hilarious to her.

“Thanaton took _two_ apprentices from you. And even if you had turned her, she’s hardly proper Sith,” Zash said. Ashara snorted a tiny laugh and made a little peace sign.

Murlesson glared even blacker. “Kriffing Sith traditions. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this shite.”

“I would have thought you of all people would recognize the value of traditions, appearances, and power,” Zash scolded him.

He huffed. He did recognize the value of those things, abused them all the time to get what he wanted. He just didn’t want another apprentice. He was fine with having Ashara to talk to, and introducing a new element into the mix might change the balance of his team for the worse.

But if there was no getting around it, he was going to keep this one close and actually train the bugger properly. Corrin and Kaal had been second-hand. If he got to pick his new apprentice – or as close as the trials allowed – he was going to make sure they were at least half-baked.

“Anyway, a new group of acolytes has arrived on Korriban,” Zash went on, as if it were decided. “Slaves. The kind of acolytes Thanaton always passes on. Our old friend Harkun is training them. An apprentice from Korriban is a special honour. It says you have status, and you will have your pick of the group.”

“As opposed to the apprentices one gets from Kessel,” he said sarcastically. Yes, he knew apprentices could be run into anywhere in the galaxy, but really, the majority of them passed through Korriban. There was nothing special about them. Zash was just trying to sweet-talk him. “All right. Inform Harkun I want one. Revel, stay on course for Nar Shaddaa. We’re almost there anyway. I have business there, and you can listen for ghost stories while I visit Korriban.”

“Right,” Revel said, bringing his feet down and standing. “We should be there in another standard day.”

He really, really wanted to spend time with his cult. He hadn’t been able to since they were founded, and they were growing rapidly. There was no question why Leppo the Hutt was interested in them. But Korriban was going to be another week away from them… Decisions, decisions. And maybe now was not the time to begin building his sanctum, not until the Hutt situation was resolved. Ashara seemed to be having fun with it, and that alone made it a tempting prospect to make reality; her work looked good.

But also he needed to make his cult a priority before they forgot who he was. Needed to show them his might periodically – not too often, but if he wasn’t often present, he had to ensure their awe remained alive while he was away. And, the Hutt needed to be dealt with quickly. Zash could frown all she liked, but Hutts were absolutely not to be trifled with or put off, not even for Sith matters.

The first thing he needed to do was to complete his research he had begun earlier on Commenor. Was there another Hutt nearby he could ally with temporarily that wouldn’t end up screwing him over in the long run?

The answer to that question was ‘no’, because there was no Hutt alive who would ever not betray anyone and everyone for business purposes. It was like finding a pacifist Sith, or a shaved Wookiee. He’d already begun to strengthen his ties to the Empire, for exactly this purpose, that it would offer him some measure of protection as long as he didn’t rock too many boats. And yet too strong, and the crime lords would get nervous about a large Imperial presence breathing down their necks. He had to show them if they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother them – and that he would if they did. And a large part of that would simply be bribing his way to a place in the local ecosystem.

He arrived at the headquarters in the mid-afternoon, local time, and found his cult waiting for him, hundreds of them, lined up in neat, recently-washed rows. He’d warned them he was coming, but he hadn’t expected this. It was good that Rylee and Destris were so loyal. They cheered as he entered the building, and he inclined his head regally. He made his way down between the lines of cultists to the middle of the room, by one of the holotrees, and turned to face them. He made the Chraemmeft Scukri to them, and they made it back in surprisingly-coordinated unison, and then he raised his hands for quiet. “Thank you, my followers. It is good to see you well and cheerful. Be yet more glad, for I have come to remain with you for a little while.”

“That is good news, master!” Destris cried. “Thank you!” Khi, the red-and-black Rodian fangirl, cheered wildly, and everyone else joined in for a minute, and it was very noisy – too noisy for his liking, threatening to bring on another attack of his perpetual headache. “Has your work gone well in the galaxy, then?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have fought against many who thought me weak. I triumphed against them all, and have grown even stronger. And I will not leave you until those who trouble you have been dealt with.”

“Oh, good,” Destris said, looking relieved. “We were hoping you’d protect us, master.”

He inclined his head again. “I shall. Fear not. Now, continue about your business.” He turned to Rylee and Destris as the crowd began to disperse, many of them heading out in the direction of the factory nearby, some of them going to lounge around the headquarters and stare at him from a distance. “I’d like to discuss it in private, and to see first-hand all you have done in my absence.”

“Yes, master!” Destris said, eagerly. “Say, uh, you have a new companion?”

“Ah yes,” Murlesson said, and beckoned Ashara. “This is Ashara, my apprentice. Treat her with all respect – though she isn’t to make changes without my knowledge.” He didn’t trust her Jedi ways not to meddle yet. Ashara rolled her eyes briefly, then stepped forward to greet them.

“Hi! You must be Rylee, and you must be Destris! Nice to meet you.” She made sure her red-and-black bracelet was prominent on her wrist as she made the Chraemmeft Scukri; she didn’t need a bracelet, or to learn the secret handshake, Force knew Khem and Revel didn’t want either, and he would have made sure the cult knew her by sight anyway, but she insisted she wanted to ‘do things right’, whatever that meant.

“Nice to meet you too, my lady,” Rylee said, bowing and making the gesture back to her; Destris copied her.

Ashara giggled. “You don’t have to do that for me. I’m no lady. Just call me Ashara.” She looked at the holotree. “Nice tree. It’s kind of out of place, though?”

The headquarters was looking a bit shabby in comparison, true, but it had always looked shabby. Maybe it was looking shabbier than before, with so many people living in it, some of them very carelessly? It was kind of like his cabin, so it didn’t bother him. Should it continue to look shabby? Was that what they wanted? He’d have to ask Rylee and Destris. He had the idea that shabby and non-descript was fine. “What matters is that it’s _our_ tree, and not someone else’s tree. But… maybe once we’ve dealt with the Hutt, we can talk about lighter matters. Such as redecorating.” Or he’d give Ashara a budget and leave it all up to her and the cult leaders. He had more important things to think about.

“I like that idea,” Destris said. “Especially the part about ‘once we’ve dealt with the Hutt’.”

“First, I want to see what’s changed,” Murlesson said. “Give me the tour.”

“Can I come?” Ashara asked.

“I’m out,” Revel said. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”

Khem didn’t move, lurking threateningly behind Murlesson.

Fortunately, the tour didn’t take too long, and although he had to sit through dinner with everyone first, then he could start send a flurry of messages to everyone – to Commenor, to extract what updates he could for his production line, to his buyers, to try to find a more direct link to Imperial procurement, to Qol’sann, the right-hand advisor to Torga the Hutt, one of his new neighbours. She – although Hutts didn’t have gender the way most humanoids understood it, but it was understood that she had feminine mannerisms, so was referred to with female pronouns – was noted to be willing to deal with Imperials – and was also a noted Leppo-hater. He had to be careful with that one. He was no supplicant, running scared to find stronger friends. He was an equal, looking to establish a mutually beneficial relationship simply because it was good sense. He had to offer Torga something she couldn’t refuse.

He had planned to go out immediately after breakfast the next day, but some of the less-active members of the cult accosted him, begging him for guidance, making the Chraemmeft Scukri compulsively as if it would get his attention better. Which, maybe it did, but not for the reasons they probably thought. “Please, master, speak to us again as you did before Paladius!”

“The master is busy,” Destris said, coming to shoo them self-importantly.

Murlesson checked the chrono on his datapad, and held up a hand to stop Destris from getting in the way. “I can spare a minute or two. I’d like to speak to everyone later, but I am not Paladius, to be remote and unreachable otherwise. What is it you wish of me?”

The shaky human in front – clearly suffering from some kind of physical handicap, and quite likely a mental one as well, no wonder she wasn’t working in the factory at the moment – reached up to him; he stayed still as a statue. “Please, tell us again about your vision!”

He knelt in front of her. “I will tell everyone about it later, but what I have always wished for you is a place where you can be free from oppression, a place where you do not have to cower, a place where your voice joins with your fellows’ to tell the high and mighty of Nar Shaddaa ‘We have a right to remain’.” His voice rang softly with noble conviction, and dimly, he felt Ashara’s approval shimmering behind him. If she was taking him at face value, had she learned nothing about him over the last few weeks?

“You have given us everything we could wish for,” Destris said, and those kneeling before him nodded enthusiastically.

“What else, what else?” they clamoured.

He was saved from answering by a breathless shout from the front. “Master! Master! Help us!” He jumped up and strode forward. What was the panic? What were these presences he sensed?

Armed guards were storming in to the foyer, kicking his cultists out of the way and lining up as an honour guard. And in through the central door slimed a Hutt. “Leppo. So you’ve come to call.”

< _Lord Murlesson, I presume?_ > the Hutt rumbled. < _You’re shorter than I imagined_.>

“You’re exactly how I imagined, because I had the sense to find a picture of you before you came,” Murlesson retorted. “What do you want?”

Leppo laughed jovially. < _You’ve done well for yourself, young man. But Nar Shaddaa – it’s not for Sith, don’t you think? I know you’re cutthroat just like us, you’re violent and independant, but you don’t_ really _care about this rabble. You’re just in it for the money. So let me make you a deal_.>

“No,” Murlesson said flatly.

< _But I haven’t even made my offer yet! Now, how would two million credits sound?_ >

Murlesson swallowed. That was ten times as much as his total earnings so far. He could feel the eyes of his followers nervous on him. How many of them were certain he’d take the money? Most of them, he could feel.

And yet – he was playing the long game. He had _goals_. What sort of short-sighted fool did this Hutt take him for? “No. Get out.”

< _Ah, ah, ah, he’s crafty! Mere money won’t satisfy him. Very well, then, three million credits, my personal gratitude, redeemable in discrete favours, and…_ > The Hutt’s eyes half-closed in self-satisfaction. < _My personal collection of historical artifacts and my contacts in the relevant black markets. You see, I_ have _done my research_.> Murlesson heard astonished gasps from behind him, could feel the shock at the unabashed ‘generosity’ Leppo was proposing.

“Leave!” Murlesson barked, his own eyes narrowed in anger and contempt. He wasn’t going to say it wasn’t tempting, but the undying loyalty of an army of mentally-challenged individuals was far more valuable to him than the questionable loyalty of an oversized slug, no matter what sort of doors it opened – or what sort of doors his refusal closed.

Leppo growled in fury, a deep rumbling growl from within his grotesque belly that set the air shaking. < _You will regret this, young Sith. I know_ everything _that goes on in my district. Your business will be mine!_ >

Murlesson’s hand went to his lightsaber; the bodyguards raised their blasters; but Leppo was leaving, as demanded. He remained still, glaring, until the last bodyguard had left.

Then he relaxed a little and turned back to his cult. “Is everyone all right?”

“Some bruises, but nothing broken,” Rylee reported from where she was helping kicked cultists. “Master, what are we going to do? We managed to stave him off before by telling him he needed to talk to you, but now…”

“We’re going to die!” wailed another cultist, flailing and falling over. “He’s going to come back and kill us all!”

“You’re not going to _die_ ,” he said, unable to contain his sarcasm entirely. He gave Rylee a coolly confident look, reaching out to strengthen their resolve with the Force. “Everything will be fine. He is a short-sighted creature. He only sees that the factory is profitable. He doesn’t see _you_. And do you really think so little of me that you think I can’t outwit him, stand against him, even destroy him for daring to show his face? If so, you’d better leave at once.”

“No, no, master! I take it back! You will save us all!” The faces around him were all so stupidly trusting. Even the nervous ones were looking at him with utter faith. They didn’t need their bloody resolve strengthened.

“I will,” he said regally. “Now we must begin preparing – for you’re not wrong. He will come back, and he will come back with force. But we will be ready for him.” He took a look around the foyer. He’d partly chosen the place for its unassuming appearance; it blended into the street outside, looking like every other half-abandoned building full of squatters in the neighbourhood. Once he started fortifying, that might change, though he hoped it wouldn’t. It was almost always good to be underestimated by one’s enemies.

Leppo didn’t have the resources in place to attack immediately, he already knew. He had the time to fix his own lack of preparation. He pulled out his comm. “Revel.”

“Here,” Revel drawled.

“I hope you’re sober enough to run an errand for me.”

“Whatcha need, kid?”

Murlesson frowned at the comm. “Stop that. I need to invest in heavy security, a large quantity of body armour, and turrets.”

“By ‘large quantity’, you mean…”

Murlesson tried to remember how many cultists had looked fit enough to carry weapons. “Let’s go with two hundred. And the same number in blasters. And ten turrets.” The cult had a few weapons already, but Leppo wouldn’t be stopped by what they’d tried to use on him at his demonstration in front of Paladius.

“Can do. I’ll get it to your base as soon as I find my contacts.”

“Ashara, come with me,” he said. “Rylee, Destris, clear the foyer, send out teams to locate and retrieve anything that can be of use in barricades, and keep everyone else inside. Khem, stay with them in case Leppo acts ahead of time.”

“Yes, master!”

Ashara was cheerful as they walked the street together, heading up in the city about three levels. “I know you called it a cult, but it’s a really healthy cult!”

He snorted. “What the frak are you talking about?” He kept his voice low – there was no telling who might be listening, either unfriendly ears who might report back to his enemies… or who might report back to his cult.

“They all take care of each other! You’ve set it up really well – the stronger ones work, and the weaker ones take care of the commune, and together they support each other! And the way you treat them is really great too! You’re not just using them to lord over them, or to have people bow to you.”

They were going to have to have a talk later – or not, she could believe what she liked. Better the Jedi believe that the Sith had an altruistic bone in his body than that she knew he was coldly calculating how to manipulate their loyalty into true power. How to get them to work harder for him, how to get them to bring him what he needed to win the long game.

True power – true freedom. Every little detail brought him one step closer. Sure, the intelligent and well-honed might of a military machine might be more useful to him, and more fun to play with, but Zash was right – shockingly – unfettered fanaticism was a useful force, when he got it to align for him. And though they might be uneducated, uncritical, and… neuro-atypical, many of them, that just made them more valuable in some ways. The very fact that they were unwanted made him want them – if only because it was easy to get a lot of them. The group as a whole could carry quite a bit of dead weight, and enough of them were able to work and be useful in other ways. _Sith throw flesh endlessly at that which they cannot control…_ so he was following in a time-honoured tradition, even if his grandfather had professed condescension for it. Well, it wasn’t like this flesh was fit for throwing on the front lines anyway.

So he made a sarcastic face at Ashara. “Did you think I wanted just people to bow to me?”

“I dunno, a lot of Sith seem to think it’s fun.”

He snorted. “By giving them power, I give myself power. Leppo’s just mad he didn’t think of it first.”

“And the ones who are sick, physically and mentally, you’re giving them a place to rest, a place to heal and belong. You’re giving them what no one else would – food, shelter, companions…”

“A retirement plan and dental benefits,” he quipped. “Ah, we’re here.”

“Umm… this is pretty ostentatious.” It had the vague appearance of a nightclub, with neon pink and blue lights pulsing on the exterior, and a dark blue light shining from half-slatted windows. An arch of gold lights showed in no uncertain terms where the front door was, where more armed guards slouched, looking for an excuse to fight.

“You think a Hutt would have anything less?”

“Another Hutt?” She wrinkled her nose. “Wasn’t one enough?”

“You have to know where all the Syren plants in your neighbourhood are, or risk blundering into one and dying horribly,” he told her, and stepped up to the guards. “Lord Murlesson. I spoke with Qol’sann earlier.”

“Wait here a minute,” said the guard in a bored voice. Soon enough, he was back. “You can go in; she’s expecting you.”

Ashara pulled a bit closer to him, trying not to show that she was nervous. He could fairly hear the Jedi code mantra running through her head. He nodded to the guard and walked through the golden arch.

The interior was even more like a nightclub, and he could feel Ashara peering around with great curiosity at the lights, the crowded tables of aliens, the exotic dancers. “Stop staring like a rube,” he muttered to her. “If you want to see what a nightclub looks like, I’ll take you to a less important one when we’re done here.”

“Sweet,” Ashara said, and though he wasn’t sure if her voice was sarcastic or not, her spirit perked up oddly at that. “It’s not that I _want_ to see what a nightclub looks like…”

Either she was lying, which was very un-Jedi-like, or she had some other reason to be happy about his offer. “Seems like it would be useful for you to know so you can _stop being distracted_ when you’re supposed to be backing me up.”

“Sah-ry,” she said in a sassy voice, and kept her eyes businesslike.

They were met half-way across the open floor by a female Zabrak in black leather and neon green hair, and piercings everywhere – ears, eyebrows, nose, lips, even her horns. “Murlesson, huh? Been expecting you. Heard you had a guest earlier.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Have I an audience with your boss?” He shook hands with her, slipped her the requisite credit chit.

“Sure do,” Qol’sann said, smoothly pocketing the money and waving him forward. “She’s pretty excited to meet you, especially when I said you were cute. Your friend’s cute, too.”

He felt his temper flare, but held on to it. Surely she meant ‘cute’ as in ‘attractive’, not ‘cute’ as in ‘adorable, juvenile, weak’. A Jedi would call him juvenile and weak, but Jedi couldn’t offer him much besides humiliation and a fight to the death. A Hutt could offer a bit more. “Lead the way.”

Torga the Hutt raised a giant martini glass on seeing him approach, neon lights glinting off the bling around her thick neck. < _So you are Murlesson of the Screaming Blade society. You’re as cute as Qol’sann said_.> He ignored that. < _Leppo doesn’t like you_.>

“I don’t like Leppo,” he said frankly. Goodness, the name Rylee and Destris had chosen for the cult sounded even sillier in Huttese. There was a reason he pretended that name didn’t exist if he could help it. “I’d like to dispose of him. Have I your blessing, Great Torga?”

Torga laughed with her whole body. < _Please do. I’ve grown sick of that posturing greedy waste of space. My hands are tied to help you directly, but I assure you that the Hutt clans will not retaliate should you end his life_.>

“That is all I could ask for,” he said, brain whirling. Most sentients would be content to leave it at that. But surely she was just planning to use him herself. He bowed, not low, but graciously. “By your leave then, I will see to it.”

Low in a crouch, he crept through corridors silently. If he killed Leppo before he attacked, there would be no reason for the attack to happen. Torga would probably claim his resources after his death, and he would not gain-say her… But she couldn’t stop Murlesson from taking a few small things first.

The guards were fairly useless. Half of them were human, or Gamorrean, and he could warp their minds with ease, distracting them or simply making them not see him. A part of him wondered if it was beneath his dignity to be sneaking about, doing his own assassinations, but really – who else was going to do it? And it wasn’t like his target was easy, despite the useless guards, or low-profile.

For one thing, there were the Trandoshans. He’d dealt with them before, back when he was a complete novice, taking on his very first Sith Lord, Skotia. Gods, it felt like a lifetime ago. But he didn’t have the amulet anymore, and he didn’t know if this lot even worshiped that amulet, anyway.

It was fine. What they had in Force-resistance and heightened senses and physical strength, they lacked in cleverness and agility. He used the Force to knock distant things off tables, and by the time they noticed that a shadow had moved behind them, he was off and away, blurring security cameras with barely a thought.

And into Leppo’s private rooms. He’d moved through his security like a ghost, although it was… even easier than he was expecting, and faint warning bells were going off in the Force.

And Leppo wasn’t in his rooms. The Hutt’s stink was omnipresent, but it was not as strong as he would have expected. Perhaps he was out in his meeting chamber, but… he was still suspicious.

But he had business in the private rooms anyway, so this was fine. He’d just do his mission in the opposite order than he’d planned, on a slightly tighter time constraint.

He heard a soft gasp from a corner and spun, startled, lightsaber hissing to life. How had he missed the cowering Nautolan!? Fear cloaked the being in the Force, his physical insignificance mirrored in his Force presence. Well, he couldn’t leave any witnesses who might sound an alarm. He lunged.

“Please! Don’t!” The Nautolan cowered back before he struck, throwing up his arms. “I can help you!”

He paused, lightsaber raised. “How can you help me?”

“I can give you all of Leppo’s secrets! Please! I’m his most talented slicer, I can get it all for you!”

Murlesson slowly lowered his lightsaber. “All right, do you have anything on Torga?” Her hands were tied, she said, and he had a good idea it was not entirely because of her clan or because she wanted him to prove himself.

“Yes, yes, he does! Oh, but you want the _good_ stuff, don’t you? Yes, yes, the good stuff. Let me get it for you.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Murlesson said drily, sheathing his saber.

The Nautolan went to a blank section of wall, pushing a secret button; the Force was calm, so Murlesson didn’t tense as a number pad flipped out of the wall. After punching in a code, a small alcove opened and the Nautolan pulled out a little box. He put it on a table and released the catches. “I’ll show you, it’s good. Actually, I haven’t seen what’s on it myself. I’ve always wanted to know. But I know it’s good. Leppo keeps it very secure.”

“Do tell,” Murlesson said, folding his arms. Inside the box was a black memory chip, and the Nautolan bustled over to the oversized viewscreen on one side of the room. There was a video on the chip, and a number of record forms. “Play the video,” Murlesson ordered.

It was security camera footage of a Hutt crossing a suspension bridge, and the bridge collapsing, pitching the Hutt and their entourage into the depths of a Nar Shaddaa chasm. While hilarious, the video wasn’t as useful as the record forms which showed it had been Torga’s fault the bridge had collapsed. He guessed that Torga would have had everything deleted from the official record, and these were the only copies left – if this was what he thought it was. “Who is that falling?”

“Ummm, I don’t know. This was from a century ago. Perhaps it’s somewhere in here?”

“I’ll take it,” Murlesson said. This was exactly what he needed. “Is there anything on me?”

“You, uh, sir?”

“Murlesson Kallig.”

The Nautolan began to type furiously on his console, and information began to show up on the viewscreen. “He’s been really obsessed with you the last little while, sir. Got some kind of transmission from the Imperial Dark Council a couple weeks ago and got really intrigued… Here it is!”

Predictably, it was Thanaton. “Stooping to using third parties to take out my support, is it? I expected better of him…” No, actually, he didn’t, despite Thanaton’s loudly-stated preference for Sith traditions. He really couldn’t trust anything in his surroundings. He wondered if Leppo would have shown the same level of enthusiasm for acquiring his base if it had come to his awareness naturally. Ah, well. Now to get rid of the witness.

The Nautolan anticipated him before he even drew his lightsaber. “Please, get me out of here!”

He frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m Yac Liiddi, Leppo’s kept me locked up for the last five years. You’re the only intruder I’ve ever seen, so you must be good enough to get me out. I’ll work for you! I’m very good!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Desperate, are we? Are you actually very good, or are you just saying that to waste my time and effort?”

“I can slice anything. _Anything_. Personal IDs, ship transponders, government records.”

“And did you slice this?” Murlesson said, pointing at the memory chip, now back in its box.

“No… that’s genuinely from a hundred years ago. I swear! The file formats back me up on that, the code signatures… But I can if you want-”

“All right, shut up,” Murlesson said, thinking. He could use someone with Liiddi’s illicit skills. Rylee’s hacking capabilities were excellent, but create a new identity, she could not. If this man were genuine… but if he weren’t… “All right. But first I’m going to kill Leppo. I suppose you should stay here. I’ll come get you when it’s done.” He shut the box, scooped it up, and turned to head for the door.

The Nautolan’s dark eyes widened, if such a thing were possible. “Leppo already left. He’s moving in on your-”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier!?” Murlesson bellowed at him, sending him cowering back. He already had his comm out. “Destris. Leppo is on the move. I will return as swiftly as I may, but you will have to hold him off until I get there.” Not completely unexpected, but he had thought to have more warning.

“Y-yes, master. We will do our best! We’re ready for him!”

“All right, now get ready for a fight, because I’m not leaving as quietly as I came,” Murlesson said to Liidi, who looked even more terrified.

Like a hawkbat out of hell, he ripped through the guards in his path. They were not Leppo’s best, and now he knew why. The rest had already gone to assault his compound-!

“When we get back to my base, get inside, keep your head down, and don’t be stupid,” he said, tearing open the dash of the closest speeder outside Leppo’s palace and finding the right wires to start it up. Smoking guards littered the walkway behind him.

“R-right.” Liidi was perhaps even more petrified than before, after having seen such ruthless destruction. He hadn’t seen anything, not compared to what was going to happen once he got back… He slammed the accelerator to the floorboards and the speeder took off like a burned Manka cat. Liidi yelped and clutched his safety harness. Murlesson’s expression didn’t change. He might not have been the best or most experienced driver, but the Force was with him, and that was all he needed.


	15. Insignificant Haircut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave Murlesson some nice loot from that side-quest. Might mean I ramble less about logistics and base management. A little bit. Yes, we are going to Belsavis next. It won’t take long, I’m starting to get impatient about Hoth.
> 
> For anyone wondering what Murlesson [looks like in-game](http://www.adhemlenei.com/illinia/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/swtor-2018-07-26-22-08-55-52-Copy.jpg), I believe his appearance is:  
> Body Type 2  
> Head 2  
> Scars 1 (none)  
> Complexion ??? (probably 1?)  
> Eye colour 1  
> Tattoos 3  
> Horns and Hair 2 (15 before it grows out)  
> Hair colour 5  
> Skin colour 2

Part 15: Insignificant Haircut

It was a bare five minutes later that he came skidding around the last corner in front of his office building, into a scene of outright war. Leppo’s troops were lined up in semi-circular lines in front of his front door, taking cover behind duracrete barriers and two or three armoured speeders. Leppo himself was in something almost resembling a tank but with big transparisteel viewports, ray shielded from the looks of the stray blaster bolts bouncing off it. The front wall of his building was a ruined mess; all the glass had been broken for three stories, and the entire front door was a crater.

Ashara stood in the centre of that crater, holding the line, deflecting everything that came near her with her sapphire sabers. From behind her, the newly-installed defense turrets were returning on their investment, although not as many of them were firing as there should have been. Well, some losses were inevitable. But it seemed Leppo hadn’t counted on a Jedi being there.

He plowed straight through the enemy lines, shutting off the speeder’s engine and sending it into a slight spin, then leaping from the pilot’s seat straight up about ten meters. The speeder gently twirled deep into the foyer between turrets, Liiddi curled into a little ball in his seat. The Nautolan would be fine. The Dark Side surged into him as he clamped his will down on it, floating slowly, majestically, down to the ground beside Ashara. “Where are Khem and Revel?”

“Side entrance a floor up, Leppo tried to get in there, too,” Ashara said. “Glad you’re back!”

“Let’s destroy this impudent upstart,” Murlesson said, as if he wasn’t technically the impudent upstart himself.

Leppo’s voice boomed over a loudspeaker from his tank. < _Young Murlesson! Good timing, I was about to destroy your pet Jedi! Now I can kill you both at once!_ >

Murlesson bowed graciously. “You’re welcome to try, you cheeky devil. But your fate was sealed from the moment you met me.” He raised himself to his full height. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” _Bring it, you witless son of a rabid schutta_.

There had been a slight lull as he made his overly-dramatic entrance, but now the blaster fire returned with a vengeance. Murlesson grinned maniacally, channeling his power, raising his right hand before him. Blaster bolts struck his gloved palm and dissipated harmlessly, even the high-powered professional blaster rifle bolts. It stung, oh yes, it stung hard, but it was a small price to pay for the psychological victory. He’d douse his hand in kolto later.

This wasn’t going to be everything – no, here came the rocket launchers, the grenades, the cannon mounted to one of the armoured speeders. He braced himself subtly. “Do you trust me, Ashara?”

“Right here, right now? Absolutely.” Her warm smile nearly chipped his concentration, but he managed to maintain it. Here it came – explosions on explosions, Leppo trying to overwhelm him with sheer firepower. That would be difficult to deal with… for a normal person. Maybe even for a normal Force-user.

He was neither of those, putting up both his hands and making an ancient gesture for a long-lost shielding ritual. Energy washed over them, flowing around their bodies, heat and maybe a bit of shrapnel, but when the fire and smoke began to clear, they were both unharmed. And now…

The cannon fired, and he grabbed Ashara around the waist and lunged forward; she gave a startled yelp, but when they landed and the dust had cleared slightly, there was a new crater in the foyer where they had been standing previously, impacting on the floor below. Most of the turrets were down now. Leppo was going to bring the whole neighbourhood down if he kept being rough like this.

And if he didn’t, Murlesson would. “Ashara, cover me for a minute.”

“I got you,” she said, stepping in front of him with lightsabers held high. The Force shone in her as she sank into her battle-trance, deflecting shots bound for him. They only had a few seconds before the incoming light-show became too much for her to handle. But a few seconds were all he needed.

He reached up, directing the Force out to pre-determined focii he’d set up over the last couple days. He had hoped not to use them, and they were not very strong yet, but they were the best he had. It helped that rage and hatred were churning within him, the Dark Side barely controlled in face of the thought of Leppo _daring_ to mess with him. Of Thanaton’s meddling. That someone was trying to take that which was _his_ , whether it was his people or his life.

Dark power erupted invisibly from his hands, flowing down the channels, coiling around the inter-building footbridge that spanned the road, pure energy ripping it from its supports. Permacrete chunks flew and bolts splintered with gunshot-like reports and a tremour in the surrounding buildings as Leppo and his men looked up in uncomprehending disbelief at their impending doom. It seemed to hover for a moment, then tore free under its own weight and hurtled downwards. The screams only lasted for a few seconds.

He probably shouldn’t use this trick too often. That was two engagements in a row he’d dropped architecture on his enemies. Effective, but he couldn’t let it become predictable.

If he’d had this power when he’d first recruited his cult, he probably wouldn’t have had to rely on tricks to make them follow him. Except he probably would have anyway, because it was easier. Laziness was often efficiency under another name.

Ashara slowly relaxed. Either all their assailants were dead, or they didn’t want to fight anymore; either way, there were no more blaster bolts coming in their direction. Murlesson was already sauntering forward, to where Leppo flailed inside his transparent tank, uncrushed but helpless. It wasn’t a true tank; it couldn’t bypass this wreckage and rubble. The shields were still up, and would stay up for hours, but… he was a Sith. He didn’t need hours. He glanced back at the door of his commune. “We have triumphed!”

There was a ragged cheer, and a motley mess of cultists came tip-toeing out gingerly – the floor and roadway were no longer what he’d strictly call ‘safe’, with all the craters and structural damage, probably not helped by him dropping a fifty-ton footbridge on it. They came crowding around him, around Leppo, who now bore an unfortunate resemblance to a specimen in a zoo, especially with the bulging eyes and slack jaw and general agitation. Someone raised a blaster, and Murlesson wasn’t slow in yanking it away from them, holding it up in the air. “His shields yet protect him. Fear not, he can cause no more harm to you.”

Several cultists stared in more blank surprise at the levitating blaster than the trapped Hutt, and Murlesson stifled a sigh. He really needed to spend more time with them; he wanted their fear and awe, but not at _every_ simple little trick he could do. He let it drift back to its owner’s grasp, but the cultist dropped it like it was hot, kneeling on the ground to stare at it fearfully. Okay, that was rather amusing.

< _I’ll pay you triple to let me go free!_ > Leppo squawked. < _I understand your power now. Darth Thanaton can go hang! I won’t cause you or yours any more trouble!_ >

“What say you?” Murlesson asked his cult mildly, and was greeted with a bloodthirsty yell. “Well, the people have spoken.” And he wouldn’t deny his own darkness stirred at their passion.

Ashara grimaced. “You know what, I’m out. I’ll see you later.” She slipped through the crowd and disappeared. He supposed he couldn’t blame a Jedi for not wanting to make a public spectacle out of an execution, but circumstances and his own temper dictated it was necessary.

“How do we kill him if he’s all bottled up like a stone mite?” Rylee asked, more curious than anything.

“Quite easily,” Murlesson said, reaching out with his hand. Immediately, the Hutt began to choke. He’d read somewhere they had big lungs and could survive without air for some time… but not if he were squeezing his lungs, too.

< _The Hutt clans… will be furious if… you kill me! It was only because Darth Thanaton… paid me a great deal!_ >

“The Hutt clans have already given me permission to do whatever necessary in self-defense,” Murlesson told him coldly. “As for Thanaton… he’s next, don’t you know?”

< _Please!_ > the Hutt wheezed. < _Fifty percent… of everything… I own! All… yours!_ >

“It was never about the money,” Murlesson said, affecting boredom. “It was always about our right to exist, free from your control.”

< _You’re a murderer! A monster!_ > Leppo gasped. What a waste of his last air.

He let a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re right. I’m _their_ monster.” Rylee grinned, recognizing the call-back. “Goodbye, Leppo. I look forward to dealing with your successor.” He tightened his grip, and the Hutt thrashed uselessly before slowly slumping into his own slimy flab.

He turned to his followers. “And thus all who would harm you will perish by my hand.” They cheered deafeningly, uncontrollably, on the verge of rushing at him. He took a step away and held up his hand before they could mob him, and gradually they quieted enough to listen. “Now we must rebuild what they have damaged. How many were killed or injured?”

“Many,” Rylee said. “But you saved us all.” She knelt to him, and as one, they all followed her, some of them making themselves prostrate on the ground.

He felt a bit of a rush, he wasn’t going to deny, looking around at all the heads bowed to him in obeisance. “We will hold a memorial for the fallen,” he said. “They died in defense of this home, and should be honoured. Now we must tend to those who remain.” And find a contractor to repair the street, pronto. He was suddenly feeling tired, and wondered if he had the energy left to re-enter the office in a dignified fashion. The wreckage was pretty high and clambering over it wouldn’t look very good. But he was too tired to levitate, either it or himself… “Rylee, if you would direct them…”

“Yes, master!” she chirped, jumping up, happy to be of use, apparently not noticing his exhaustion. He’d wait for them to go back in, then extricate himself by himself, possibly using his lightsaber to help.

And once he made it back inside the building, skirting the unsteady spots in the floor by a wide margin, he found himself confronted by Destris, holding Liiddi by the arm. Rylee, who’d just finished giving directions, hovered near, curiously. Khem was there, licking his chops and looking pleased with himself, or maybe pleased with Murlesson.

He’d nearly forgotten about Liiddi. “You needn’t hold him so, Destris. The poor fellow wishes to join us, after all.”

“Very good, master,” Destris said, letting go of him.

Liiddi bowed; apparently he’d seen something of the conflict. “Yes, yes, great lord, scary lord, I will work for you forever! And with your, um, nice followers.” He shot a nervous look at Destris, who was watching him with a distinctly unfriendly eye.

“All right, then. You could be of great assistance. I’d like you to begin by helping us to something out of Leppo’s accounts. He did cause great damage to my people and my property, and why involve other parties-” like Nar Shaddaa’s useless, Hutt-biased justice system- “when we can simply and quietly take what we deserve?”

Liiddi’s eyes lit up. “I can do that! Yes, yes, a straightforward task, not easy, but straightforward; how much would you like?”

Murlesson looked over at Rylee and Destris, and nearly cracked a smirk. “I seem to recall he was offering three million for this place… and fifty percent of his wealth for his life?” The few millions he’d been offered initially might be pocket change for a Hutt, but even that much would more than pay for repairs, major upgrades, the sanctum he wanted to build, bribes to Torga, and still have a healthy amount leftover to invest in the stock market. “Let’s not be greedy. Ten percent will be reasonable recompense for us, and leave plenty for the clans to recover, keeping us in their good graces. It will set us up for years to come.” How many millions would it be? Would it make his head spin? That might be pleasant. He was feeling very satisfied with himself, and wondering if he ought to be more wary, where the catch was. True, Torga hadn’t _said_ he could help himself to money along with Leppo’s life, but if he got there first… finders, keepers.

Rylee clapped her hands, and Destris made a fist-pump motion. “That’s awesome, master! You really are the best!”

“I try,” he said, mock-modestly. “Get it done now, and let me know when you’ve finished.” He needed time to research his little bit of blackmail, anyway.

And to help the wounded survivors, at least a token effort – it would impress them. If he could dodge the ones who wanted to physically accost him and worship him bodily. He saw it in the wildness of their eyes, some wanted to. Anyone who tried it was getting Force-pushed across the room. They had to know that he was a generous master, but _he was the master_. They had to fear him.

Ashara was already there, but when she saw him, she got up and moved away. “Sorry, I need some time right now.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I know it was… you know… necessary, and unavoidable, and all, but…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” he said, turning his back to her to give her space and bending to help a cultist with a burned leg, unrolling a bandage.

He felt her eyes on his back for a while, and then she moved on to help others, silently.

Finally, after a slight rest and food to recover his energy, there was one thing left to do. He went back to Torga’s nightclub a few hours later, with Revel this time, since he didn’t need him to do something else and Ashara’s Force-sense was still bothered even from a distance.

“So what are you going to do now that you’re incredibly rich?” Revel asked on the way there.

He shot him a flat look. “I’m not incredibly rich. I’m moderately wealthy.” Revel rolled his eyes; apparently having twenty million was a lot for most people, but he’d already adjusted to having it. His head hadn’t spun for very long. He knew how much Thanaton commanded, he knew how much most Hutts hoarded. He was playing in the big leagues now; still a small fish in an increasingly large pond. “And I’m not planning anything that normal people would consider exciting.”

“Huh. You mean you’re not going to build that secret hideout you had ‘Shara working on?”

“Well maybe yes that, but it’s not like the cult is suddenly going to start dining on roast nerf and namana fruit, and gild the walls in Naboo gold. I’ll give them a small reward, but they can’t be allowed to grow lazy.”

Revel snorted. “Fair enough. What about you? Any interest in personal luxuries?”

“Not much. I don’t want to grow fat and lazy either.” His voice sank. “I won’t deny it’s tempting. To have _anything_ I never could have before… but I can’t lose focus.”

Revel patted him on the shoulder, and he moved away to prevent that from happening again. “You’re not wrong, kid. Money don’t buy happiness. It don’t buy freedom, or loyalty, or much that _really_ counts in this screwed-up galaxy. But it can buy an awful lot, I’d just like to point out.”

He grunted and fell silent.

Torga was more than happy to greet him now. < _That was noisy, but effective. As promised, the Hutt clans will not seek revenge. He was, after all, meddling in affairs that weren’t his. You can even keep the money, it’s nothing to me_.>

Score. “As you say, Great Torga.” Should he tell her it was all Thanaton’s fault? No, that would call his Imperial ties into question. “Then by your leave, we shall continue to live in this neighbourhood…”

< _I was actually wondering if you’d consider working with me_ ,> she said. Great, here it came.

“If it’s all the same to Your Greatness, I’d prefer to remain independant,” he said mildly. “I serve the Empire…”

< _But your people are not Imperials_ ,> Torga said shrewdly. < _You’re a funny one for an Imperial, but your people and your business are not. Why not let me invest in your little factory? You could expand to half this sector with my help_.>

“Thank you, but I must respectfully decline,” he said coolly.

< _Don’t be foolish, young Sith. You have a head for power, but I have a head for business. I could see to it that the Imperials don’t want your little chips. And… you know, we both have a head for violence…_ > Around them, safeties began to switch off; behind him, Revel stayed chill as ice, trusting in him.

Murlesson gave her a flat stare; the metaphorical gloves were half-off. “You seem to misunderstand, Great Torga. I’m not the least bit afraid of you, or your underlings. I _could_ kill everyone here, but that wouldn’t be very useful, wouldn’t it? I have a much better plan that you’ll like even more than dying or acquiring the Screaming Blades over my undead body.”

< _Do tell_ ,> Torga said, clearly amused, not taking him seriously, and slightly angered that he would turn her down.

“I will of course show my gratitude for your generosity… repeatedly, and in monetary fashion,” he said. One reason, perhaps, she was so unfussed about him taking a small fortune – some of it would inevitably come back to her. “And, incidentally, I won’t send Leppo’s little box to anyone.” He smiled toothily. “I think we can come to an amicable agreement, don’t you, oh Great Torga?”

Torga paused, staring, then boomed a laugh. < _Oh, I like you, young Sith. I like you a lot. I think we can do very good business together, in spite of your stubbornness_.> She waved a hand. < _Go on, then, keep your little fanclub. Grow your business slowly. Live your short little life. I won’t interfere. I’ll just take good care of them_ after _you’re gone_.>

Murlesson bowed. “Of course, Great Torga. I’m glad we had this talk.” Ha, she was turning to hate him, as anyone would hate a person who held power over them. He would have to be vigilant against her from now on, but also secure that she wouldn’t try anything unless it was catastrophically successful. Or insidiously subtle. “I will bid you farewell then, by your leave.”

< _Farewell, Murlesson. Don’t come back_.>

Revel breathed a sigh once they were clear of the outer guards. “Damn, you pulled it off. I wasn’t sure you could.”

“You doubted me?” Murlesson asked idly.

“Not many sentients can go toe-to-toe with a Hutt like that and keep their cool unless they’re stupid or very experienced. You handled that like a pro.”

Murlesson shrugged. “I looked for the best possible option. It wasn’t that difficult, in this case. Thanaton will be harder.”

“’It wasn’t that difficult’, he says, having done something almost no one else can do,” Revel snarked. “Say, can I ask a favour?”

“You want a raise?”

“Sure, but that wasn’t the favour I was going to ask. See, I just got word earlier today that a bunch of my former crew got picked up by the Republic recently. While some of them I’d be perfectly happy to see rot, some of them I kind of want to see freed. And while I could probably handle it on my own, they _are_ on Belsavis…”

“What’s Belsavis?” Murlesson asked, trying to remember if he’d studied that one in galactic geography.

“Republic prison planet. Weird place, by all accounts. Covered in ice, except where hot spots have burned through and left habitable areas. Only the very worst end up there. Like my former bunch.”

“I need to spend time with my fanclub, and then go to Korriban before Zash blows something. Or after, it might be an improvement. Would it be acceptable to send you off to reconnoitre and then rejoin you in a couple weeks?”

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I’ll need a ship, since I assume you’re keeping the Viper with you – she’s yours, after all.”

“I’ll get you something,” Murlesson said absentmindedly, already concocting a scheme. “Do try not to get caught. I’d hate to have to replace you.”

Revel smirked. “Hey, I might not have crazy blaster-proof magic powers, but I _am_ a pro.”

“Hence the fact I’m giving you a raise.”

Revel seen safely off with a used but stealth-equipped freighter, Murlesson now had time to breathe. He couldn’t remember when that had last been, but he welcomed it. Even dealing with the crazies who followed him didn’t seem so bad. Although he didn’t forget – Thanaton had sent a Hutt after him. What would his next move be? Ought he to secure his Commenor base against violent assault? Surely Thanaton wouldn’t be so crude when Murlesson wasn’t even in the vicinity? He appreciated artefacts too, didn’t he? No, he couldn’t let his paranoia go too far. Thanaton didn’t even know about the Commenor base. Though surely he must suspect Murlesson had more than one.

Naga Sadow advised total security, but it was easy for him to say… He was just starting out with his power spread half-way across the galaxy in small, disparate blobs.

Although… now with Liiddi’s help, he could create false identities, false companies, and invest heavily in whatever he liked without it being nearly as easily traceable back to him. Which meant his power could grow invisibly. And the first thing he did with _that_ was to invest in an even better research lab on Commenor, in a much higher percentage. He was going to transition the factory towards producing quality, specialized products if he could. Which meant refitting the factory… retraining the workers…

After holding a memorial for everyone killed in the Hutt raid, he spent a lot of time in the upper floors of the building of his commune, while the lower floors were being repaired – and upgraded, now even though the place would be just as shabby as before, by design, there would be hidden turrets, pop-up barricades, blast doors. And up there, he taught, trying to explain in small words about what it meant to be Sith, to follow Sith, while still maintaining his mystique and distance. Fortunately, his audience was terribly uncritical. And he passed some much-delayed judgements on disputes that Destris had kept in limbo for him like a good kath hound, keeping up a calm iciness that intimidated his cultists appropriately.

Although Ashara still wasn’t talking to him. It was a bit awkward for him. But he let her be. If she didn’t come to terms with what he had to do, that was her problem, not his.

He thought she might show some interest when he brought in a small team to begin constructing an elevator shaft from the back of the main level of the commune down, down, down… to bedrock, as he planned, though it was going to take some time to get there. But, nothing from her yet. Perhaps she would be more intrigued when the actual cosmetic work started and her own contributions became evident. He could be patient. In the meantime, only Rylee and Destris were truly in on the meaning of the construction, and they were ecstatic over it.

He would have to keep a better eye out for Thanaton’s movements. He had weathered this jab, but Thanaton had a lot he could move against him, and he intended to side-step as much of it as he could.

So much to do, still so little time.

They were two days out from Nar Shaddaa, heading back to Korriban at Zash’s frustrated prodding, and he was supposed to be researching this Belsavis planet, when: “You need a haircut,” Ashara said, leaning over him where he sprawled on the common-room couch with his datapad.

He flinched, probably more than was strictly necessary at the prospect of something trillions of sentients did every day.

She looked worried. “What? What’s wrong? Is that bad?”

He inhaled slowly and sighed, running a hand over his admittedly-long and in-the-way hair, sitting up a little. “For years, the chic, fresh look for slaves on Commenor was a shaved scalp. When I became a Sith, I told myself I wasn’t cutting it again.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I meant _ever_ again, but I’ve earned the right to hair.”

“You sure have!” She smiled brightly. It was nice that she was treating him normally again. “It’s really nice, too, you do take good care of it. It’s just long and kind of, I don’t know, emo-looking. And you have horrible split ends. You can absolutely have hair – I am super in favour of you having hair – but it could look even better.”

“What’s split ends?” he asked.

“The ends of mammalian hairs can get dried out and split if they’re too old. The only fix is trimming them.”

“Gross,” he said. “How do you know about that? You don’t have hair.”

She smirked. “Lots of my friends at the enclave had hair, not just the humans, there were also a couple Cathar and Bothans and Mirialans and female Rodians and even a Zabrak like you; I learned a lot about it. When we were younger, we’d do each other’s hair before bed on the weekends…” Sleepovers? Like in that Five Jawas and a Speeder sitcom he only watched five episodes of before giving up in boredom? She trailed off, mournfulness touching her spirit. She was thinking about all her friends that she couldn’t see ever again because of him. “S-so I could even do it myself, if you don’t want to see a professional.”

“I’d rather you do it,” he said immediately. “What do you suggest that’s… not emo?”

“Ummm…” She stroked his hair, lifting a lock to see its length and texture. He tensed, trying very hard to remain still and not bolt – though whether it was because he hated anyone touching him, or because he almost liked _her_ touching him, he wasn’t sure. “Like… back-of-the-neck kind of length, just generally trim everything down to a couple inches, it’ll look neat and tidy and it won’t get in your way, and it’ll still be… uh, cute.”

“I’m not _cute_ ,” he said darkly. “I’ve fought Jedi for saying that before.” Really, what was it with people using that word on him??

“Really?” She giggled and grew bolder. “How about… sexy?”

“Um.” He froze, uncertain what to do with that information, eyes darting back and forth nervously.

But apparently she just found that funny, too. “Okay, okay, I take it back. But you’ll look good, if I don’t mess it up. I promise.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m not sitting in a chair, though.” Too many flashbacks.

“I can work with that. Want to do it now?”

He glanced at his datapad. “How long will it take?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Give me another half-hour to finish this.”

In half an hour he was hunched around a pillow in the middle of the floor in his cabin, swathed in a big black towel, Ashara crawling around him with scissors and a comb she had dug out of _somewhere_. He wondered, wondered strongly – Revel kept _his_ head shaved, and Khem didn’t have hair, and _Ashara_ didn’t have hair, not that she’d brought any personal possessions from the enclave anyway, so where did it come from? All he himself had for haircare was a brush, a soft one that went around his horns more easily than a stiff-bristled one.

She seemed to think that he might chat like her Jedi sleepover friends, but he just grunted at all her attempts to make small-talk. If he wasn’t playing a part, he didn’t know how to make small-talk.

“I think Rylee likes you.”

“Huh.”

“Do you like her?”

“Hmph.” Not in that way.

“I like her, she’s nice. She’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”

“Hn.”

She snipped quietly for a while. “Are you annoyed?” she asked eventually.

“No.” Honest. He just didn’t know how to respond.

“Then why are you being so rude?”

“You’re not saying anything that sparks my interest.”

She pouted and snipped around his left ear. He winced and held very still. Strands of red hair were drifting around him and scattering across the deck. They’d better not end up anywhere sensitive. “Your love life isn’t interesting?”

“ _What_ love life?”

“Your prospective love life, then. Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“Do I have to talk?”

“It’s friendly! And cozy!”

“No one’s applied the word _cozy_ to me in my entire life, and with any luck, no one ever will. And live.”

“Well, aren’t you a gigantic grouch.”

“Now you’re on the right track.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s all part of the aesthetic, isn’t it? ‘If it’s not the most grimdark thing ever, it doesn’t fit my personality’.”

He snorted. “I hate baby gizka, didn’t you know?” That wasn’t true, and she knew it by now too.

She snickered, and then was quiet a moment, though the scissors still went _snip snip snip_ , around his other ear now.

“All right, serious topic, then.”

“Yes?”

“You keep talking about ‘dying young’ and ‘not expecting to live past five years from now’…”

He would have shrugged, but he didn’t want to disturb her work. “I’ve been studying the greatest Sith tacticians in history, and I appear to have a knack for applying their knowledge to my own life. I’ve cheated death a hundred times over by now. But even with everything I have, my education, my cunning, my strength, my resources, I might still make a fatal mistake. Everything’s getting more complicated, more difficult to juggle. I might miss something, or make a bad decision. Maybe I already made a bad decision that I don’t know about; I probably did, in fact, if not several.”

“No one’s perfect,” she said, exasperated.

“Lack of perfection is why Sith don’t live very long,” he answered. “I intend to fight my fate as long as I can, and when I lose? I’ll be dead, so I won’t give a frak anymore. Statistically, it’s unlikely I’ll die of old age.” She said nothing, but her forehead scrunched up in distress and sorrow radiated through her spirit. “Will you stop with the pity? I won’t care either way.”

“I’d care,” she said quietly, defensively. “You say you don’t care a lot, and I wonder if it’s always true.”

He was tempted to say he didn’t care again. “I don’t know. I think it usually is. I only have so much energy to care about things. I like to prioritize.” He paused, made a toothy grin. “Anyway, there’s always the possibility my sins will catch up with me and I decide none of this bantha shit is worth the effort.”

She stopped, put the scissors down, took his face in both hands. He tensed, wanting to pull away, not daring to move, but here he had no choice but to look in her concerned brown eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he demanded in a whisper that was almost _scared_. Him, _scared_ of a Jedi and her feelings-!

“Don’t you dare kill yourself,” she pleaded with him. “You’re… Force, you’re hurting so bad that it’s painful to feel you, even though you hide it so well, but you’re brilliant. You’re amazing. You’re… _worth_ living. So don’t stop.”

He stared at her, wondering what she saw in his eyes, in him, terrified of this sudden, unfamiliar emotional vulnerability she was forcing on him. Wondering if he should just Force-push her out of the room and go hide in the Dark to make himself feel better; it was churning in his belly along with sudden nerves anyway. Knowing that it wouldn’t make him feel better at all. “You don’t know my life. What I’ve done just to get here.” And she never would. Though she probably guessed from how he went about the Hutt execution.

“I don’t have to.” Her fingertips on his cheeks were warm, and slightly rough, and the most gentle, trusting thing he’d ever felt in his life. “You use the Dark Side, yes, but you use your pain to fight against injustice, and you make the galaxy a better place with it. Just keep living. I’ll walk beside you, as long as you want. It just might take me a little while to accept the darker things you do.”

He pulled away, back into himself, away from her hands. “Just finish the haircut, please.”

She withdrew a little, awkward herself now, and kept going in silence, moving behind him to get the back of his head. Her fingers brushed his slave collar scars on the back of his neck and she paused, but he was determined not to flinch. He’d known she’d find them. After a moment, she kept going.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you,” she said at last.

“I’m not upset,” he said, whether it was true or not. Although, he guessed if he were really upset, there would be a lot more mental screaming. There usually was. “If I really wanted to make the galaxy a better place, I _would_ cut to the chase and kill myself. Fix it right up.”

She squinted at him over his shoulder. “Was… was that a joke?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I like my humour the way I like my Force and my caf – black and bitter enough to choke a rancor.”

Her eyes grew wide, then her face creased in a huge grin. “Well, I like my humour in the same way as _my_ Force and caf – bright, full of rainbows, and double cream and sugar.”

“You like rainbows in your caf?” He made a face. “I thought Jedi never got further than a dozen shades of brown.”

She giggled. “When I’m in a really good mood, I’ve been known to fart rainbows on occasion.”

“Gross. I’m throwing you off my ship, we don’t need the contamination.”

“I dunno, I don’t think you could bear to part with me at this point.”

“Want to bet? The murder, mayhem, and galactic domination hasn’t driven you off?”

“Who would give you a haircut if I wasn’t around?”

Fair point, if minor. “All right, how are you then? You’re really not regretting joining me yet?”

“No, not yet.” She smiled. “Although it’s forcing me to grow in ways I never really expected.”

“Like what?”

“Umm… Well, I have to remember to do my own mindfulness and meditation. At first it was nice, not having to stick to a schedule – I got to be really lazy and it was fun.”

“Sith do what they want,” he snarked.

She giggled some more. “I wouldn’t call being lazy terribly Sithy, definitely not after watching you. Lots of people are lazy, and they’re not Sith! But then I started getting bored, and missing the structure the Jedi used to provide for me, so I decided that I had to figure it out myself. So it’s been good for me, in that respect.”

“That’s good,” he murmured. He was actually feeling kind of relaxed as she combed through the back of his head; it was unusual for him, but nice.

“I’m not perfect about it, because I’m bad at self-control… but I still want to remain a Jedi. And now I have to figure it out for myself, and the meditation is really good for that. I think I’m taking it more seriously than I ever did at the enclave, which is really weird, come to think of it. Makes me wish I’d taken it more seriously before.” She sat back. “There, done!”

He got up and shuffled over to the little mirror by his refresher. “Huh.”

“You like it?”

“Not bad. Looks respectable. Thanks.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome! Hooray! It worked!”

Zash-in-Khem’s-body smiled knowingly when she saw him in the conference room a little while later, reading the news. “I see you let her clean you up.”

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“It’s different, isn’t it? The atmosphere on the ship, since she came.”

He grunted noncommittally.

“It’s the presence of a young woman. Women change everything, you know. The galaxy needs femininity to be in balance.”

“Well, _you’ve_ never been feminine,” he groused. Random thoughts of rainbows intruded and he pushed them away.

“Murlesson, dear,” she scolded. “When I still had my nice human body, I was very feminine. I even kept my illusions that way, unless you were too blind to notice – though it seems you’re not too blind to notice her.”

“Shut up,” he said. “Unless you have anything actually useful to say.”

“You don’t trust me, Murlesson,” she said chidingly.

“Frakking straight I don’t,” he bit back. “I can trust any help or advice you offer is ultimately to help you over me, so no, I don’t trust you even when you’re correct.”

“I’m hurt, Murlesson dear.”

He looked up and snarled full on. “Don’t pull that with me. We’re both Sith. We both know that trust is fatal and emotions are liabilities.”

She smiled, peeling Khem’s lips apart to reveal jagged teeth. “Ah, you have so much to learn about both. And it’s the kind of learning you can’t simply tell yourself to know like you do so well. You’ll have to let the galaxy teach you, slowly, painfully.”

He stared at her. “Are you done pretending you’re superior?”

She smiled and walked away. She was so smug… Even if he had hated Khem, which he didn’t, he would never let Zash have sole control if he could help it.

Korriban was just how he remembered it. Arid, pitiless, utterly depressing. But now everyone bowed to him. Nice. He was still a little nervous, but he wouldn’t run into Thanaton now; he was still running about being mysterious on Dromund Kaas right now, according to his intelligence.

Four acolytes were lined up in Harkun’s office, mostly aliens, and he was abusing them verbally, as usual. “You are the slime, the filth, the wretches of society. You are what Sith Lords scrape off their boots.”

Murlesson leaned against the doorframe, his face the picture of dour boredom, hiding his irrationally intense surge of hatred. “Ah, Harkun, good to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Well, well, my lord,” Harkun said, folding his arms. He could feel the loathing radiating off him from here. The acolytes all turned to look with various levels of curiosity and fear. “I certainly never expected to see you again. You clean up well.” Good, Ashara’s haircut was helping. “Are you here for an apprentice, or were you just feeling nostalgic?”

“I’m certainly not here to see _you_ ,” Murlesson said, countering sarcasm with more sarcasm. If the acolytes picked up there was no love lost between the two of them, he didn’t care. Most of them would die, anyway, and even if one of them managed to do something with that knowledge.. he’d almost be more interested to see it than pretend everything was hunky-dory in the World of Sith.

“Still as prickly and arrogant as ever, eh, slave? I mean, my lord.”

Murlesson’s gaze darkened, and his fingers twitched. He could choke out Harkun a little bit, and no one would say anything. _He’s not worth the effort. He’s not worth the effort. He’s not worth the effort_. “I suggest you start introducing your lot before I remind you why they made me a Lord two months after I graduated.”

Harkun’s face didn’t change, but his Force sense did – much more obsequious. “Yes, these are the acolytes – a worse bunch than yours, if you ask me. This worm is Seferiss. They found him in a Hutt’s palace, crushing prisoner’s heads for the Hutt’s entertainment.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” said the red-skinned Twi-lek.

“Shut up, slave,” Harkun snapped. “You don’t talk directly to a Lord of the Sith unless he asks it.” He turned to the next one, the one with three eyes on short, fat stalks. “This beady-eyed monstrosity is Argog. Don’t know where on a kath hound’s backside he’s supposed to come from.” _Gran, usually from Kinyen_ , Murlesson recalled his high-school studies. Funny how those came in handy. He’d known a couple Gran as a slave, himself.

< _Not far from where you were born, I think_ ,> said the Gran.

“Sorry, what was that? Can’t understand a word it says,” Harkun said, and pointed to the third. “This gangly creature is Jaxun. He’s no Sith, but he’s at least human.” He froze, apparently only just remembering he was still on thin ice from his last insult. “Er… no offense.” He turned quickly to the last one, a type of alien Murlesson neither recognized nor recalled. “And this bone-faced one. Well, I can’t pronounce whatever gibberish he says he’s called. We call him Xalek.”

“Master,” said the alien softly, unsettling reptilian eyes watching him closely. He stared coldly back.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Harkun said. “Too wild for his own good. There were two others, but we made the mistake of leaving them alone with him.”

Murlesson cast one last glance over them. “That’s all. I’ll check back soon.”

“Check back as often as you please. I don’t expect it to take too long to chew through this bunch.” He turned to the acolytes. “What are you staring at, wretches? You know your trial for today. Now go!”

They filed out past him, filled with the Dark Side, angry, fearful, weak. He looked back at Harkun one more time. “I realize it has not been very long since I walked these halls in their boots. But you really should watch your tongue more carefully.”

“Yes… my lord.” Harkun really, really despised him.

The feeling was still mutual.


	16. Out of the Cooler and Into the Freezer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murlesson works in Celcius because the Empire uses metric. And hey, I managed to recycle something from Tatooine. I just thought it would be more interesting to do it this way than to blandly exposit ‘rumours’.

Part 16: Out of the Cooler and Into the Freezer

Belsavis was the weirdest planet he’d been on yet. As Revel had described to him, massive three-to-four-hundred-metres-high glaciers blanketed most of the planet, thanks to its orbit on the outer side of its star’s habitable zone. But the planet’s huge, hot core had, via volcanic activity, melted giant gaps in the ice, leaving them free to be filled with rich, thermal-powered jungles. From space, the planet looked like it had green acne. Charming.

And within the jungles were Republic installations. Apparently they were pretty sure that anyone who escaped the high-security jails would get eaten by the imported feral acklays. And anyone who escaped the acklays would freeze in the ice, because there wasn’t much else here.

The actual prison break, even though it didn’t go completely smoothly, was nothing to write home about. Murlesson had arranged for false identities for Revel, Ashara, and himself, a Republic transponder for the Viper, and new clothes so they were less obviously a pirate, a Jedi, and a Sith waltzing into one of the most secure facilities in the known galaxy. Even Kessel paled in comparison to this place, from what he understood.

Their entry was unremarkable; Revel knew exactly where his targets were from whatever intelligence he’d gained on his prior expedition, and led them there directly. And then there was a lot of Force manipulation, and a lot of fighting, especially when a random Jedi got nosy and tried to stop them. But an hour later, they were alone in their target prison building except for the prisoners, and the compound-wide alarms weren’t going off. Nice.

One by one, Murlesson hacked the doors open and the prisoners walked out, looking around suspiciously; apparently getting freed by a Zabrak Sith in a Republic uniform was not something they’d expected. But when they made their way down to the main office area, now in a state of chaotic destruction, they saw Revel, and he felt their fear and hatred rise. Most of them.

Revel looked at them all grimly, but then his gaze fell on the last one, a woman with short black hair, and he grinned. “Caseyyyy, good to see you, babe.”

“Son of a motherless Kowakian monkey-lizard, Andronikos!” The woman smiled back. “You didn’t come down here just for little ol’ me, did ya honey?”

“Not entirely,” Revel said, giving the other pirates a dark look. “Mostly, but not entirely.”

She shrugged. “Figured as much. You were never the sentimental sort. ‘S what I liked about ya.”

“Revel,” said one of the other crew; about half of them were getting worked up, Murlesson could feel it, getting ready to attack. “Should’ve killed you when we had the chance, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t try anything yet if I were you,” Murlesson said idly, examining his gloved fingertips. Lightning was a bit hard on the leather, and he kept having to replace his gloves. This pair a cheap approximation of Republic guard gloves, so he’d already blown out the fingertips. “I could kill all of you in a heartbeat without really trying. I just don’t have a reason to yet.” He gestured around the room at the chaos, the Republic bodies. They could draw their own conclusions about how they died.

“I wish they would,” Revel said, glaring. “Show ’em what happens to folks who cross you, y’know? But I won’t make you take ’em out. They don’t deserve that. I’ll do it myself. Show ’em what happens to folks who cross _me_.”

The Casey woman tilted a carefully groomed eyebrow at him. “I hope that doesn’t include me, after all the work I went to getting word to you.”

“Casey, you traitor!” shouted one of the pirates, a big stupid-looking human who needed a shave. “I thought you were my woman! You ditched that pile of druk!”

“I’m no one’s woman, Wilkes, and definitely not yours, you gormless gundark. So? Gonna shoot me, honey?”

“Nah, you come stand over here by me. Better yet, ya want one of my blasters? Let’s do this together, like old times.”

Murlesson waved at Ashara. “Let’s go. We’re not needed anymore.”

She stifled a sigh. “Okay.”

They were outside before the shooting started, but he still dimly felt the furor in the Force, the anger, the fear, the death, Revel’s dark satisfaction.

Ashara sighed openly now as they trudged to the top of a nearby hill. “Man, pirates are less fun in real life.”

He shrugged. “I hope that isn’t surprising to you.” The Force was abundant here, and Dark-tinged, and yet it felt repressed somehow.

“Well…” she thought for a minute. “Let me amend that. _Andronikos_ is fun when he’s just chilling. But when he’s being piratey, less fun. I admit he has cause, but… Murder isn’t really fun whether it’s pirates or not.”

“I think you’re on the wrong ship if you want to avoid murder,” he said.

She snorted. “I guess that’s true.”

“Your consolation should be I don’t usually do it for fun.”

“Don’t you?” She folded her arms, looking angry. “Maybe _you_ don’t. But so many Sith do. There isn’t going to be proper peace between the Empire and the Republic until they stop!”

“And Jedi do kill people on occasion,” he pointed out, slightly sarcastic.

“I guess that’s true too. But we try to just kill people who deserve it! To protect others!”

“I was going to say ‘who made you the judge of the galaxy’, but then I remembered, so do I,” he said. “The difference between us is, I’m pretty sure almost everyone deserves it…” A sharp mental pain jabbed him with guilt, and he winced. He hadn’t been thinking of the worst moment of his life until he spoke…

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying,” Ashara said; she must have caught his twinge. “You just think you have to kill lots of people because other Sith do it.”

“Holomarker NotAllSith,” he retorted for the sake of annoying, pedantic accuracy. “Aristheron doesn’t kill lots of people. _I_ kill people because they’re in my way.” He couldn’t say why other, more average Sith killed so much, but he guessed it was because killing was… addictive, being so deep in the Dark Side, though he didn’t like to admit it. He was more strategic than to indulge himself in an addiction he couldn’t afford to develop.

“So they deserve it for that?”

“Yes.”

She huffed. “You should stop it. You’re a jerk.”

He made a sarcastic bow. “Why yes, thank you, that is me. The galaxy’s a frakking jerk, so we’re even.”

She looked out over the jungle; he could feel her uncertainty, her attempts to centre herself. “You’re so sure of yourself, always. How do you do it?”

He hadn’t been expecting that conversation turn. “I wasn’t exactly intellectually challenged as a slave. I had to find my own mental stimulation. I had lots of time to think, while I drudged away cleaning and serving. I figured out my core philosophies then, and now I follow them.” He hesitated. “Was that the answer to the question you asked?”

“Maybe? A little? Didn’t you ever find your philosophies challenged by putting them into practice?”

“Yes. But since I had such excellent role models, I’ve managed to… mostly… stick to them.” Although it was a lot messier now that he had to deal with actual politics, different kinds of people, different kinds of relationships, instead of just ‘slaves=allies, guards=enemies, Netokos=kill’.

“’ _Excellent_ ‘,” she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

He ignored it. “You’d do well to develop your own philosophies outside of the Jedi code.”

“The Jedi code is fine,” she said.

“I’m sure it’s fine, but it’s a bit simplistic. There are many ways to apply it. What’s yours?” _How are you going to reconcile your sunshine-and-rainbows view of the universe with traveling with me and the things I do?_

“Huh,” she said, looking inwards. “You may have a point there…”

Murlesson looked down the hill, and there was Revel and the Casey woman approaching. “Hey, kid.”

“Just once, I wish you’d call me… I don’t know, ‘boss’, ‘lord’, anything but ‘kid’,” Murlesson groused. “I know annoying me is hilarious and you’re too valuable to zap, but _please_.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Revel said, and Murlesson huffed and folded his arms. “Anyway, Casey has something I think you’ll be interested in hearing.”

The woman smiled brightly. “Casey Rix. I used to ship alongside this guy when he was captain of the Sky Princess.”

“Then what happened?” Murlesson asked, idly curious. “Revel’s never told me the whole story.”

She looked up at the cloudy sky, tilted her head in a thinking pose. “Eh, the first mate mutinied, managed to get more than half the ship on his side. I managed to keep my head down, although the idiot got it into his head that I _liked_ him just because he made himself captain… so I played along, because manipulating him was way too easy. After they dumped Andronikos, we kept on pirating, but… Wilkes was never half the captain Andronikos was.”

“Aww, babe,” Revel said fondly.

Murlesson looked between the two of them flatly. Wasn’t there a better-than-even chance that Casey had helped sell out Revel, even if she’d communicated to him on this occasion?

Revel caught the look. “I know what you’re thinking, but whether it’s true or not, Casey’s good for this time. She didn’t _just_ arrange for me to come break out the relatively-innocent and punish the wicked ’cause she was in trouble. She’s got info to buy our help with, and I think you’ll like it.”

“You know of a ghost for me,” Murlesson said.

Casey grinned. “Right on! One of our last jobs was to the ice planet Hoth. But… weird crap kept happening while we were there. Spooky crap. And we weren’t the only ones to see it. I heard there’s things that can’t be explained, unpowered doors opening and closing, storage crates moving when no one’s around, and supposedly someone blacked out once and started speaking in tongues. Could be snow-madness or just tricks of the environment, but…”

“That sounds almost comical,” Murlesson said. “Are you sure it wasn’t just drunken pirates playing pranks on each other?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Just thinking about it sends chills up my spine, and it wasn’t from the cold.”

He stared at her, then sighed. “I suppose I don’t have any better leads. I’ll look into it.” He turned away and waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll be on the ship, once you’re ready to leave. Take whatever time you need.”

“Be right there,” Revel said. “See, I knew he’d be interested, Casey babe.”

Revel arrived back on the ship about half an hour later. “Well, that’s all taken care of. Thanks for the support! Breaking into Belsavis ain’t a walk in the park for most people.”

“What’s happening with your former crew?” Murlesson asked as Revel settled into the pilot’s seat and began warming up the engines.

“Most of them, nothing much,” Revel said with a dark chuckle. “Wilkes and his lot are all dead. Casey’s got the Sky Princess out of impoundment, and what’s left of the crew will follow her.”

Murlesson looked at him with some surprise. “You didn’t consider going with her?”

“Of course I did. I loved the Princess. Still do. More’n I love Casey, in case you couldn’t tell. But you’re my boss now. Sure, I could hand in my notice, but… eh… I think ya need me.”

Murlesson blinked, his mouth slightly open. “That’s… generous of you.”

Revel shrugged, flipping more switches. “Don’t worry about it, kid. This ship is good times. There’ll always be time later to see if she wants me back.”

“Casey, or the Princess?”

Revel grinned. “Yes.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but what _is_ your relationship with Casey, anyway?”

“We’re casual,” Revel said. “She was never one for ‘romantic’ commitments, and frankly neither am I. They’re too likely to go haywire and explode. So I guess you could say… ‘friends with benefits’.”

“I see,” Murlesson said. “Very practical.”

Hoth was a new kind of discomfort he’d never known before and would have been perfectly fine with not knowing. Hadn’t they just been on what was technically an ice planet? Why did they have to go to a worse one? But whatever his suffering with the cold, he was fine compared to his companions. Ashara whined and shivered, her sensitive lekku puckering with goosebumps. And the Empire’s humanic-centred stores didn’t have much that could help. Eventually she grabbed about five or six scarves and disappeared into the women’s refresher for twenty minutes, coming out looking ridiculous… but slightly less pathetic. Khem Val didn’t complain, but he was still wearing next to nothing. Did he not feel the cold, or was he just being grimly stoic? Revel had put on a hat.

Murlesson just pulled his hood more firmly over his head and lowered his head against the wind on his rented speeder bike.

They’d been roped into aiding the local Imperial base in their fight against… mostly pirates, actually. There was a Republic presence on the moon, but everyone had a quarrel with the pirates, and the pirates had a quarrel with everyone else. He wished Aristheron were there, this was right up his alley. But they’d fought enough Talz that he wouldn’t be missed while he went to meet with the contact he’d located – a Lieutenant of the Imperial Reclamation Service, which was a fancy government term for ‘graverobbers’. He was fully prepared to be unimpressed with their work. What could Force-deaf straight-laced Imperials know of Sith tombs? They probably just went to pick up the artefacts their masters told them to without ever having an inkling of what it all meant.

He came to a stop outside a crevice in the ice. Supposedly his contact was in there, and the Imperial gear and guards outside suggested he wasn’t wrong. He left his speeder and continued on foot, all three of his crew behind him.

Deep into the crevice, they found it transitioning to stone, stone marked with signs of ancient construction. The ice might have shifted overhead for the past several thousand years, but whatever lay in this mountain was still intact. Modern cables swooped along the ceiling, dangling bare-bones light fixtures. Up ahead he heard echoes of men’s voices and saw a steady light. The Imperial Reclamation Service was close.

He turned the corner into a large chamber and a blaze of floodlights, and a flurry of careful, painstaking activity. They were taking holos, making notes, measuring locations, brushing ice and debris from artefacts with soft brushes… they weren’t just graverobbing. They were actually, for real, doing archaeology. He’d never seen professionals in action before – Zash hardly counted, she hadn’t done anything like _this_ when she had taken him on expeditions – and stopped to stare in appreciation.

A small man was standing in the middle of it all, moving from worker to worker, leaning over them to see their progress. “Easy does it, boys. We must respect history as we find it, no sense rushing what’s been here for hundreds and thousands of years already. Rogers! No cutting corners! And don’t forget the salt!” He smiled with excitement at Murlesson as he approached. “Salt’s not the best solution, but it’s the only thing that doesn’t freeze out here, and solid footing is a must.”

“Better than the typical off-the-shelf chemical-replete antifreeze for dealing with artefacts,” Murlesson answered, blinking down at him, trying not to loom. The man was short, and prissy, and looked about as strong as a wet noodle, but he was bursting with energy, and totally unafraid of him, a keen light in his eyes. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Talos Drellik, of the Imperial Reclamation Service.”

The man gasped happily and bowed. “Lord Murlesson Kallig, I am honoured. I heard you single-handedly unearthed several artefacts of the great Tulak Hord in the last few months. I’m a Naga Sadow man myself, but I’d love to compare-”

“You are?” Murlesson interrupted, his own pulse quickening with excitement. “So am I! Would you consider joining my service?” Ashara burst out laughing behind him. “What are _you_ laughing at?”

True, on second thought, he ought to be more wary. What better way to lead him into a trap than to entice him with someone with whom he shared a strong interest? How had this Drellik learned about his artefact-recovering missions, how had he recognized him in the first place?

Drellik seemed taken aback, but he certainly didn’t seem offended. “Er… I shall certainly consider it, my lord! Now, what brings you to Hoth, and how may I be of service?”

Right, his goal. “I heard that a ship carrying artefacts from Yavin 4 went down over Hoth some years ago.”

“Hmm, a ship? Not usually our line of work, but let’s hear it. Maybe we can help.” He gestured over to a small prefab shelter with several folding seats set out in front of it.

Murlesson explained everything, leaning forward onto the small camp table, and Drellik sat back, a hand on his chin, taking it all in. “Hmm. A bit new for the Reclamation Service… but artefacts! And a ghost! I’ve heard that the dead talk down in the tombs, but to see one! I wonder if it’d be possible to make a holo-image…”

“I imagine it would depend on the light,” Murlesson said.

“Yes,” Drellik mused, “darker would be better…” He got up and waved at a skinny man with a shaved scalp. “Engineer Sorrel! Do we have any probes that aren’t frozen solid?”

“Shalora works as good as any in these conditions, sir,” said the engineer, brushing his gloves off and striding over to a crate near them. “She may not look like much, but she’s got heart.”

“Aww!” Ashara cooed over the droid as the engineer powered it up, and it floated into the air to hover a metre off the ground. “She’s got a _good_ heart, yes she does!” Revel snickered quietly, but Ashara didn’t seem to care.

Murlesson ignored them. “What are we scanning for?”

“If my guess is correct,” Drellik said, “the captain would’ve launched a distress beacon before the crash, which should give us a line on the ship. I’m afraid I must finish up with the documentation here, but you can head out straightaway with Shalora, of course. But beware, my lord. The cold’s master out here. My boys and I are going to shift camp tomorrow morning, try to get a better communications setup going, but let us know if you find anything!”

“You’ll be the first person I call,” Murlesson assured him ironically – who else would he call?

The icy wastes were vast, blank, eye-searing whiteness, broken by the regular ridges of stony mountain peaks, and the irregular ridges of interminable glaciers. Murlesson was fairly certain this was some form of hell; the temperatures were in the negative fifties and it was _sunny_ out. If they all died here, at least it would save Thanaton the effort of disposing of them. They’d simply vanish into the frozen desert, their bodies lost but preserved for centuries, any remains stark reminders of sentient life’s hubris in coming here in the first place…

Which was a depressing thought, but the whole thing was a bit depressing, wasn’t it?

It would have been nice if he could at least have read something while traveling by speeder bike, but he needed all his attention just to make sure he didn’t all off the occasional unexpected cliff, and the vehicle’s design wasn’t conducive to holding a datapad and still going fast. It was also too noisy for conversation, so even listening to an audio file was out of the question. So he was incredibly bored, and the sweeping landscape seemed to numb his mind, so he couldn’t even scheme properly. Sithspawn, he hated this planet.

He’d tried to send at least two of his companions back – while traveling alone was the height of stupidity, there was no call for all four of them to freeze together – but they’d all refused. Khem was looking for Tulak Hord’s bones, which he’d dreamed were here, though what they were doing on Hoth, he couldn’t say; Revel wanted to be on hand in case of pirate attacks, and Ashara wanted to help with any supernatural happenings. He also sensed she just didn’t want to be left behind, on the ship, all alone, which would have been a perfectly acceptable state for him, but apparently she found that nearly as depressing as the actual planet.

It took far too long to discover where the distress beacon had landed, but when he did, he called Drellik immediately, who assured him he would send out Engineer Sorrel right away. Murlesson was glad of that, as the playback mechanism was jammed. He’d figured out how it worked, since it was designed to be easy to activate even by the most tech-illiterate Trandoshan, but it was jammed with ice over time and he didn’t want to damage it.

So they set up a small shelter and waited for Sorrel and his escort to arrive. The engineer had the device in working condition in fairly short order.

The holo was of a Chagrian male in Republic uniform. “This is Captain Quellon of the Starrunner. SOS, I repeat, SOS. We are caught in Hoth’s gravitational pull, and falling fast. Strange events date back two weeks. Yavin Four artifacts believed to be the source. Something has taken control of the ship. To whomever finds this message: burn this vessel. Don’t look inside, don’t touch it. Burn it.”

The recording shut off abruptly. “Well, that sounds incredibly promising,” Murlesson said. _Let’s_ not _burn the ship. Gimme gimme_. “Is there anything else recorded on the beacon? Coordinates, perhaps? A hint of where the ship may have fallen?”

“Not as I can tell,” said Sorrel. “Might take a good going-over in the lab. But what are those tracks?” He pointed at some small dimples in the snow that Murlesson had seen but not taken much note of before, and got out his comm. “Lieutenant, sir, we’ve found the beacon but no ship, as you expected. There’re some light tracks, though: appear to be a few days old.”

“Have Shalora zoom in, Sorrel,” Drellik said. “I’ve been studying alien tracks since I was old enough to know a Twi’lek from a tuk’ata.” Sorrel went over to the droid and adjusted its scope to focus on the tracks. There was a long pause – allowing for the data to transmit, and for Drellik to make sense of what he was seeing- “Ortolan. I’d know them if they were six days old and covered in jam. Those are Ortolan tracks.” He sounded so pleased to have figured it out.

Murlesson raised an eyebrow at the lieutenant’s choice of words; Ashara giggled. “I’ll be sure to look for you next time my ship’s galley is invaded by a pack of Ortolans.”

Drellik chortled in return. “Ha! That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that next time the Imperial Reclamation Service trackers’ committee meets.”

“You have a committee- Never mind.”

Drellik appeared to have remote control of Shalora now, panning the scope about to a small divot in the packed snow where the tracks converged. “It looks like those Ortolans dug something up – possibly a clue to the ship’s location. Sorrel, where’s the nearest Ortolan camp?”

Sorrel pointed east. “It’s a ways beyond the next outpost. But the tracks look headed in the right direction.”

“Might be time to put on your best diplomatic face, my lord. Ortolans don’t like outsiders much, but it looks like they’re the key to finding our ghost.”

“What I’d like to know is why the Ortolans moved _now_ , just when I arrive on the planet,” Murlesson said. ‘A few days old’ would put it at the exact time he arrived. “Surely they’ve had years to hide the ship’s location.”

“You think they’re deliberately hiding it?” Revel asked. “Not just randomly salvaging bits at an inconvenient time?”

“The timing’s _too_ inconvenient,” Murlesson said. “It’s suspicious. …I wonder if the ghost sensed my presence and my intent, and is trying to make things difficult for me.” Revel shrugged, not buying it. He didn’t know the power of the Force.

“I’ll have Sorrel bring the beacon to the base. Between it and the Ortolans, we’re bound to have a breakthrough. We’ll be there when you’re through dealing with them.”

“Very well,” Murlesson said. “Kallig out.”

“Lieutenant Drellik really is something else,” Sorrel said cheerfully as he brought over a cargo sled, big enough to hold the metre-wide beacon and any other remaining debris nearby. “Could find a wampa hair in a snowdrift, I bet.”

“Have you worked with him long?” Murlesson asked.

“Oh, several years, sir. He’s a funny little fellow, but an excellent boss. He knows what he’s doing, sir.”

“I believe it. Khem, help the man with the beacon.” He could just lift it himself with his mind, but what was the point of having heavily muscled minions then?

The local Imperials were nearly so bloody disorganized that he left them to fend for themselves with the Talz… nearly. The saving grace was Captain Yudrass, who was thoughtful, methodical, and cold-bloodedly ruthless. He was a far better collaborator than his superior, Commander Tritan, who blustered and bumbled about, making a lot of noise without much substance. Murlesson had been ignoring him as well as he could and going off of Yudrass’s intelligence as much as possible.

When he returned to Dorn Base in the evening, a junior officer hurried up to him. “My lord, if you have a moment to speak with Commander Tritan, your presence would be much appreciated.”

“I suppose I could,” he said, affecting superiority and heading towards Tritan’s office. He entered without knocking.

Tritan and Yudrass were there, as usual, but they were speaking via holocomm with a moff, so said the uniform. Probably their superior. “And you say this Sith held off the entire Talz force single-handed?”

“It sounds incredible, to be sure, but here, I’ll let you talk directly.” Tritan turned to him and bowed. “My lord, we cannot express our gratitude.” Maybe if he were less incompetent, he wouldn’t have needed to express so much gratitude. “May I introduce Moff Braynor, overseer of the Hoth system, among others. Moff Braynor, Lord Kallig.”

“It’s an honour,” Murlesson said, cautious but trying not to show it. He didn’t know what else this moff had heard of him. But if he hadn’t heard anything _bad_ , maybe he could be a potential ally.

But the moff was generous, apparently. “If not for you, Dorn Base would have been lost, and all the outposts that depend on it. It is for that reason I ask you your opinion. Would you say Commander Tritan or Chiss Captain Yudrass was more instrumental in the base’s defense?”

Murlesson hadn’t missed the slight emphasis on Yudrass’s species, certainly hadn’t missed that it had been mentioned at all. There was no need to point out Yudrass was Chiss. Braynor was another frakking humanocentric bigot. And if that were the case, an unreliable potential ally, given how he himself was Zabrak.

He gave him a cool stare. There was only one option, for anyone who had a functioning brain. “Captain Yudrass’s advice formed most of our key strategies. We relied on him heavily.”

“That is as I expected,” Braynor said, and Murlesson detected a shade of regret. It wasn’t surprising, even if it made him surprisingly angry. The Empire was full of kriffing hypocrites who professed meritocracy and then preferred to elect incompetent members of their own species. “Very well. Captain Yudrass, you are now Colonel Yudrass. I am putting the base’s welfare in your hands until further notice.”

 _Until he can find some way to replace him with a human_ , Murlesson thought darkly. “Congratulations, Colonel. You have earned it.”

“I… Thank you,” Yudrass said, sounding pleasantly surprised. Murlesson hoped he didn’t expect it to last. “This is unexpected.”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of a Chiss ranking so high before.” He probably ought to leave well enough alone…

“It is unprecedented,” Braynor said, sounding like he was forcing the words out, “but Captain Yudrass is well-known for his skill and judgement.” _Then why wasn’t he promoted before, you oafish dewbacks_?

“Sir, if I might ask…” Tritan spoke up. “Do you think the enlisted men will have a problem taking orders from Colonel Yudrass?” _Will_ you _have a problem taking orders from Yudrass_?

“You mean will they refuse orders from a Chiss?” Braynor smiled a little. “They will at first. Then they will be made examples.” Ha, so his bloodlust was stronger than his bigotry. If he ever needed to manipulate him, that would be two interesting buttons to push…

“Yudrass would find your assistance very helpful, I’m sure,” Murlesson said to Tritan, going for a hint of steel in the back of his voice. “Model the appropriate behaviour, help to win the men over… and make it clear what happens to the disobedient. But you already knew all that, of course.”

“Of course, my lord,” Tritan said in a voice that told him he hadn’t thought of any of it… and that he was disappointed to be playing second xantha to an alien – or at least to be passed over, Murlesson would be generous. “I will begin immediately. Thank you, Moff Braynor, Colonel Yudrass.”

“That will be all,” Braynor said, and vanished, probably glad to be away from the scary filthy aliens.

“Well… that went better than expected,” Yudrass said, looking at Murlesson with a slightly stunned look.

Reading his Force-sense, Murlesson was wondering if he’d done the right thing after all. Yudrass didn’t actually seem that happy to be recognized. He affected a remoteness. “Is that all you require of me?”

“Things do seem to be under control here at present,” Tritan said, not entirely happy about that either. ‘Under control’ meant ‘no action’ for his violent, impatient nature, though it was a petty nature, perfectly happy to let others do the suffering and dying, preferably with as little stress to him as possible. “At least we don’t have pirate problems here… Captain Revar at Leth Outpost lost a reactor substation to the White Maw Pirates.”

“We have asked much of you, but Captain Revar has not,” Yudrass said. “His soldiers are in desperate need of relief at Leth Outpost. We shall of course send what we can now that we have defended our position, but should you have the time and the inclination, my lord, please look in on them.”

“Perhaps,” Murlesson said. Really, he just wanted to continue looking for his ghost, and talk with Drellik as much as possible in case he never saw him again, and not waste his time further with the Imperial military… what did he care about these planetary politics? Surely the Imperials wouldn’t be driven off Hoth altogether, no matter if he interfered or not, and if they were, so what? It was only a snowball.

But… brownie points with his future colleagues. And perhaps Revel would like shooting some pirates. “I bid you good day, then.”

The Ortolans hadn’t given him exactly what he was looking for, not even when he sneaked past their front lines, slaughtered their ‘finest warriors’, and glared at their chief. But they had given him some interesting intel anyway. Or rather, the ghost possessing the Ortolan chief had.

The ghost he was tracking down was named Horak-Mul, supposedly the right hand of Ludo Kressh. Ha. Ludo Kressh? Naga Sadow destroyed Ludo Kressh twice over. And this idiot had been murdered by Naga Sadow’s assassins, the Sadow’een. And even _more_ coincidentally, there was a temple to them on Hoth.

“No offense, but why can’t you Sith just become one with the Force when you die?” Ashara asked sassily when they got back to Leth Outpost, looking for Drellik. Revel and Khem had stayed in the commissary, more intent on hot drinks than history.

“But that sounds so… utterly boring,” he said drily, and she snorted a bit of a laugh. “Well, to put it more seriously… what I’ve noticed of Jedi is that they’re taught to give up… just about everything. Material possessions, power, even desires. And thus, if it goes properly, they will achieve some sort of peace – of fulfillment – in this life. Sith require all of that – possessions, power, desires – to survive. We will never achieve fulfillment in any life, so how can we but linger, seeking to complete the incompleteable?”

“That’s so sad,” she said. “I keep wondering how anyone can become Sith.”

“Certainly, because just anyone can become Jedi,” he retorted sarcastically. “And stop pitying Sith. They don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right, on both counts,” she said, and sighed. “And I hate that you are.”

He peered at her for a moment on the threshold of Drellik’s assigned conference room. Why was that so depressing to her? More importantly, why did he care so much? Why did he care what she thought at all?

Oh Force, he _liked_ her-

Drellik, over by the desk, coughed, and he recalled himself and strode quickly into the room. Plenty of time to figure that out later, on these interminable speeder bike rides. “I met the ghost.”

Drellik became even more animated, if it were possible. “Ooh! Did they say who they were?”

“Horak-Mul, servant of Ludo Kressh.” Before Drellik could get even more excited, Murlesson went on with a frown. “He needs me to get inside an ancient temple.”

“Then it’s true!” Drellik exclaimed. “My peers in the service laughed when I said it was on Hoth, but now… yes! It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Murlesson snorted. “It still doesn’t make sense. What in the name of Korriban’s tombs do the Sadow’een have to do with Hoth? Let’s not get carried away.”

“Not get carried away? Impossible!” Drellik began pacing quickly. “This must be the greatest discovery since my mentor Auselio Gann unearthed the wing of Naga Sadow’s own fighter on Yavin Four! We’re talking about the _fabled_ Sadow’een, Naga Sadow’s personal order of assassins – myth made real!”

“I never heard of them having a connection to Hoth, and I’ve read _everything_ on Naga Sadow,” Murlesson countered. “Unless you have another source I’m not aware of…”

“Ah, well, I don’t have it with me… I believe it was ‘Blood in the Sanctum of the Lost’ by Irviean Yardlok-”

“I haven’t read that one,” Murlesson said, eyes aglow. “I need a copy. Where did you last see it?” Ashara giggled. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Sorry, it’s just really… um… it’s absolutely not adorable.” He glared at her, and she shrugged innocently.

Drellik chuckled himself. “I’m sure I can track down a copy. To be sure, it’s not really about Naga Sadow, he’s barely mentioned at all. So I could imagine it being overlooked even by the most ardent of enthusiasts – which clearly you are! At any rate, finding this temple has been my life’s goal… for the past five years.” He’d been freezing for the last five years? The man was dedicated.

“Then I regret to inform you that this ghost wishes me to _destroy_ the temple,” Murlesson said heavily.

Drellik stopped abruptly. “Oh. Ah. …I understand. I should have expected that, of course. I shall gather my team so that we may document everything first, if that wouldn’t upset the ghost.”

Murlesson frowned again. “I’d rather locate the Starrunner by other means if at all possible. The question is how long would it take, and how long it will take Thanaton to try to take me out again. He’s been very persistant so far.”

Drellik resumed pacing, more soberly. “Well, I regret to report that we found no clues from the beacon. We really have nothing else to go on except that the ship must be within a hundred kilometres east of the beacon’s original location, judging by the state and location of the debris around it. And that’s a very large range for what I’m told was a relatively small ship.”

Murlesson sighed long. “Try anyway. I’m not about to just do what a ghost tells me to.”

Drellik perked up. “I shall do my best, my lord! And… thank you, for protecting history.”

He shrugged. “It often can’t protect itself. Is there anything I can do while waiting?”

“I’m sure the local unit would be very glad of your combat assistance… oh! You meant to help search. I hesitate to treat you as an ordinary member of the Imperial Reclamation Service…”

“Then don’t,” Murlesson said. “Consider me an extraordinary member, and send me to do anything you consider too dangerous for your men.” He didn’t want to beg. He also didn’t want to sit by being bored when he could be actively making the task shorter. Just sitting on his ship in orbit, being warm, reading in his bed, was enticing, and incredibly useless. Also he wanted to be involved in the archaeological community, to find out more about what it really was. He didn’t care if it was supposed to be beneath his dignity as a Lord of the Sith.

He didn’t know how to say any of that.

“I want to help, too,” Ashara said, taking a step forward.

Drellik smiled warmly at her, and she smiled warmly back. “You must be Lord Kallig’s apprentice, yes?”

“My name’s Ashara!” Ashara said, and Murlesson noted with amused approval how she sidestepped the question. She was learning. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise!” Murlesson cleared his throat, trying to remind Drellik that now he had _two_ volunteers of considerable combat ability, just waiting for direction. “V-very well, I will try to find a task of suitable importance and danger for you, my lord. Er… by your leave.”

“I really like him,” Ashara said, as they left the building, heading for the temporary quarters to rejoin Khem and Revel. “He’s so enthusiastic! It’s great! And wow, he has so much patience and dedication to his craft. I could never do that.”

“Says the Jedi,” he retorted, and she snorted. Did she really _like_ Drellik…? No, she couldn’t mean like that, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Jedi weren’t supposed to have particular feelings for anyone. Which was disappointing- he couldn’t think about that with her right beside him.

She shook her head, laughing. She did that a lot, which he’d noticed from very soon after she’d joined, and yet suddenly it took on new colour. “Me, patient and dedicated? I still can’t get myself to meditate _every_ day.”

“You manage to find time and opportunity to exercise every day.”

“Yeah, but, um, meditation’s hard. Um… anyway, he’s cute. He reminds me a lot of you, except the opposite of broody.”

“Does that mean you think I’m cute?” he asked, like an idiot. First of all, he already knew she thought he was cute, and second of all, didn’t he hate being called cute?

Somehow it didn’t seem so bad if she was saying it.

She blushed and walked faster. “I-I just meant you’re both giant history nerds, and I think you should definitely talk a lot about things I never heard of and I will just be nearby, basking in your brilliance.”

“That’s not a sop to my ego at all,” he teased her. “But I intend to do just that. I imagine someone with his passion and talents is rare, even in the Reclamation Service.”

“I’m still shocked they made archaeology a military thing,” she said. “That seems weird.”

“What’s even more unusual is that it’s mostly separate from any Sith archeaological endeavours. The Force-deaf of the Empire have, I suppose, decided to compile their own repository of history so that they might be useful to the Sith who have no ability to do research.” He put his head back and sighed. “Which means ultimately they answer to Thanaton, as he’s the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, but fortunately he doesn’t pay much attention to the non-Sith military. They’re beneath him or something.”

“Huh,” she said. “Well, I imagine Drellik won’t sell you out. Remember how excited he was to meet you?”

“I remember,” he said, which reminded him – he had to ask how Drellik had known him. “It actually leads me to believe the opposite.”

“Oh, come on, I’m sure a sweet man like him wouldn’t just hand you over…”

“To a member of the Dark Council? Who would he be to say no? This is why Jedi walk into traps so often.”

She pouted. “And this is why Sith have no friends.”

“Who needs friends when you have power?” He tried to leer, failed because she was being too cheerful. He didn’t know about himself, but she was pretty damn adorable.

“Who needs power when you have friends?” She grinned at him and poked his arm. “C’mon, let’s get some hot chocolate.”


	17. Apogee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of game dialogue in this one; Hoth actually isn’t so terrible, story-wise, and there’s really only two complaints I have about it. One is that there aren’t enough dialogue options that let the Inquisitor look smart, and the other is just that the planet is so long and empty.
> 
> Soundtrack of the day: Joe Hisaishi’s [Sonatine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xzn9Sb4P_QA) seems somehow fitting for Hoth (used for traveling to the Star of Coruscant), even if it’s not quite the usual mood for Murlesson (would probably work better for Coerthas in FFXIV, come to think of it). (also a relevant track from Corpse Party ([Chapter 5 Annex, PSP version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xy9H6l5jjt4&feature=youtu.be)), used for exploring tombs and being grouchy)

Part 17: Apogee

Days passed, and no sign of the Starrunner appeared. He even went back to visit the Ortolan clan that Horak-Mul had used to speak to him, but the ghost refused to talk to him, and any evidence they’d recovered from the beacon was gone, probably destroyed. And Thanaton was sending out another apprentice or three on an ‘unknown mission’… but surely his paranoia on hearing it was justified. Thanaton sent out apprentices all the time, on random mysterious missions, but not three at once. He had another week and a half before the fastest ship could get to Hoth, but after that it would be a race for survival. It already was a race for survival.

A really boring race, so far. Every day, he would go out on his speeder bike for hours – unless a storm passed through, and then everyone was stuck and even the droids and probes were useless – and scan for anything related to the Starrunner, and every day return empty handed. Though he saw a surprising amount of combat – twice ambushed by White Maw pirates, and once challenged to a duel by some weird Force-wielding pirate cult leader. At least the local Imperials were happy with him, not that they’d dare confess otherwise.

He had plenty of time to think again, and he found himself spending a lot of it thinking about Ashara. He’d been spending some time since she joined _not_ thinking about her, or at least trying not to think about her, but now it seemed like he couldn’t help himself. How could he? She was beautiful, and strange, and rapidly gaining in confidence in both her saber abilities and in dealing with the outside world; her spirit reflected it, shining with a steadily-brightening glow in the Force. She was already better than him in physical combat, and she was only going to get better. And her odd, random, sometimes-nonsensical notions fascinated him, and her wide-eyed naivety and passion for life was strangely intriguing. He’d thought Jedi were either assholes like Ryen and Kel Reu Giri, or annoying, like the Rurouni and Kentalon, but Ashara… he couldn’t think of her as just being a Jedi, no matter how she clung to the role and he teased her for it. She was… Ashara.

And Ashara was smoking hot and part of him really wanted to… well… he didn’t really know what he wanted to do. He was scared to think about it, really. And he certainly didn’t let on anything about his inconvenient attraction while she was around. She’d sense it, and then things would be _really_ awkward.

Which still made it very uncomfortable for him when Ashara stormed past him in the commissary, clearly upset about something, and sitting with her back to him. “I’m _not_ talking to you.”

“What did I do!?” he demanded.

“You didn’t do anything… personally. But you’re a Sith! And you know what Sith just did!? In the Corellian system, a group of them killed a group of free-traders for not giving them free passage to the Outer Rim. And don’t tell me anything about ‘Sith do things for survival’,” she said as he opened his mouth to answer. “They did it for _fun_. You were right, the other day. They don’t deserve any pity.”

He yanked his chair around to her table to have a proper discussion with her. “That’s what Sith _do_. What do you want _me_ to do about it?”

“Well, _you_ don’t do it, so why are you excusing them!?” She folded her arms and pouted at him. She was genuinely angry at him – very Jedi-like, that – and yet he still thought she was beautiful.

And this was _not_ the time to think about that. “I don’t kill when there’s nothing to gain from it. There’s no nuance in it. Though if the free-traders weren’t going to give them passage one way or another, there’s probably nothing to lose from it either.” Assuming the free-traders didn’t have any big connections.

“That’s despicable,” she cried, and he actually reflexively reached out to make sure no one noticed that as interesting, turning any alarmed minds away. Not that he supposed tired, possibly-injured Imperial footsoldiers really cared if there was a Jedi in their cafeteria, not if she wasn’t attacking them and in his company. It wouldn’t blow any of his covers. But he didn’t need the attention. “Free will is the ultimate good, huh? Even if it results in the deaths of innocents? What about _their_ free will? _Their_ desires? I guess they should’ve been Sith.”

“That is generally the understanding Sith operate by,” he said sarcastically. He’d been a slave, he knew first-hand _exactly_ what the end result was for the non-Sith.

He wasn’t sure if she remembered that, but it didn’t matter. “How dare-!”

He went on ruthlessly. “These Sith were pretty stupid if they couldn’t figure out how to get passage anyway. All they had to do was hurt one or more of them until they submitted, then remind them that they _could have_ killed them all. Maybe include a bit of positive reinforcement as well, but in general being reminded that no one’s dead makes people a bit less resentful.”

“Oh, sure, very merciful,” she snapped, even more furious. Possibly on the edge of succumbing to the Dark Side, if she wasn’t careful – or at least on the edge of hurting _him_. “I can’t believe you. I thought you were better than this. Sith are so _selfish!!_ ”

He thumped a fist on the table and she jumped; he glared at her straight in the eyes. “If I were broke and needed to get to the other side of the galaxy in a hurry, I would absolutely do exactly that. I’m not saying these Sith were justified in murder. I’m saying I don’t know where you got that idealistic notion about me.” He withdrew into himself again, dropping her gaze. He… was starting to want to live up to her idealistic notions, to make her happy with him, to make her like him… but it wasn’t possible. And that was… surprisingly depressing.

“Maybe from watching you interact with your followers,” she said quietly. “Or just from talking to you. You don’t want to hurt people-”

“Don’t I?” He snarled. “With this much Darkness in me, you think I don’t want to hurt anyone?” He grabbed his food and stomped away.

“Flouncing doesn’t make you right!” Ashara called after him. “It just makes you even more of a jerk!”

He was sulky that day and the next, especially since he felt he was running out of time. The first week was gone, and he’d found nothing. His stress was leaking into his dreams uneasily, bringing visions of Thanaton chasing him zombie-like across a cold white void. Did he want to gamble on the notion that Thanaton’s latest unusual action had nothing to do with him? He had a vague idea where the temple of the Sadow’een was supposed to be, and though he didn’t want to – didn’t even want to hint that he was considering the ghost’s proposal – he went there on the second day, just to see what the area looked like. To see if it was worth continuing to fight this ideological battle.

It was at the bottom of a deep glacial fissure that had been developing for centuries, so that was nice, not having to blast through tens of metres of ice. He didn’t pick up any signals from the Starrunner, so no ironic hiding places for him to discover. And within… He didn’t go far. Revel was with him, as it was pirate territory, and he didn’t want to investigate without his whole team and Drellik present. But he sensed traps, powerful ones, sensed old technology, strangely alive in the Force.

He turned to go and nearly ran into a droid – correction, he realized after he definitely didn’t jump – a frozen iceblock that had a droid inside. A droid of ancient design, rounded and bronze-hued. So there were droids within, probably mobile defenders to deal with any clever enough to evade the traps.

Now he had a decision to wrestle with. If he wanted to destroy the temple, he needed a few days first to at least document everything in it. If he still destroyed its contents later, well, there was always the danger the ghost would renege on its promise regardless, but surely it would be content with the destruction, even delayed. And if it did renege after he destroyed everything, he would be very harsh with it when he did find it.

But he didn’t want to destroy it. Even if he was stealing this ghost’s power, its very being, he didn’t owe it his obedience. The dead had no rights. And he didn’t want to do something so heinous to a different source of power that he might use. It wasn’t like Thanaton would chase him here personally like in his dreams… would he?

The silence of the wastes and the shadows of the evening pressed in on him, over the noise of his speeder bike and the shadows in his thoughts.

Did he take the quick and sure but painful route, or the slow and dangerous and probably more painful route? If he left to draw off pursuit, when would he be able to return? When he was so close already? What was the point of waiting?

Putting it those ways, there was only one option he trusted. At least he’d tried to look for another path, but there wasn’t one this time, not one that was viable.

He headed for Drellik’s conference room when he got back to Thesh Outpost. “I’ve decided. I don’t have time to find the Starrunner manually. I’m sorry.”

Drellik nodded. “I understand, my lord. I’m grateful that you attempted it anyway. How many days will I and my team have to document everything?”

Murlesson had done the calculations over and over again. Ten days from Dromund Kaas, maybe eleven if they were being slow, and then three days for them to follow his trail this far out from the spaceport; seven days gone, squeezing one day in to actually find Horak-Mul after destroying the temple… Once he had the power, he wouldn’t care so much about the apprentices, so they could come as quickly as they liked after that. “Three days after I manage to disable the traps and the droid guardians. Maybe a bit longer, but if you can get it done in three, it would be a weight off my mind.”

He couldn’t look for the ship manually _indefinitely_ … but he was giving up at the very first sign of trouble. And _dreams_ had influenced him. Pathetic, really. Was he really so afraid of Thanaton’s forces?

No, he was just afraid that Thanaton would adapt faster than Murlesson if he was stuck here. Thanaton already had the upper hand. There was no need to give him more of it.

“That’s quite generous, my lord! I’ll brief my team and prepare the equipment at once, and we’ll set out tomorrow at first light.”

“If this place is truly untouched, there will be more than just traps and droids trying to stop us,” Murlesson said.

Drellik smiled confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you inside if you can manage the combat matters. I’ve been circumventing the security of ancient tombs since I was old enough to hold a data spike and a pair of pliers. Haha, but I have far more advanced equipment at my disposal now. It’ll open tomb doors and make tea while you wait.”

“Sounds handy… if I liked tea,” Murlesson said, amused. “Question.”

“Ask away!”

Murlesson frowned, hoping he wouldn’t hate the answer. “How did you know me, when we met?”

Drellik smiled. “Oh, Lord Murlesson, you’re well-known among the Reclamation Service for recovering Tulak Hord’s artefacts. I imagine you never really took notice of the Service before; most Sith don’t. But we try to keep up with _all_ archaeological developments, especially ones we didn’t do. After all, there’s always the chance our paths may cross eventually! As ours did.”

“Hm.” Reasonably convincing… He’d allow it for now.

“My lord, if you have no more need of me, I’d like to call my team for a briefing.”

“May I sit in, or will I make them nervous?”

Drellik looked surprised for a moment, then nodded cheerfully. “Absolutely, my lord! It would be an honour.”

Ashara came to find him as he was eating dinner; he was still technically sulking, but he wouldn’t turn her away, not when contrition was written so strongly through her spirit. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have tried to pick a fight. I was upset, and I let it get the better of me, and it’s inexcusable.”

He shrugged, not looking up. “Whatever.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be moody on me. Er… I mean, I guess you can, it’s not like I can stop you…”

He flicked a glance up to her. “Really, the shocking part is that we don’t have more fights, what with how we’re _so_ ideologically opposed.”

She made a wan smile, sitting opposite to him. “True. You’ve been very patient and understanding, and I’ve… I’ve been a whiny baby.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘Flouncing doesn’t make you right, it just makes you more of a jerk,” he said, and she winced. “You misunderstand. You’re hardly a whiny baby by Sith standards.” Patient and understanding? Him? …Maybe from a certain point of view, but, he wouldn’t have thought from hers…

“You _are_ a drama queen… but… I was angry,” she said, squirming uncomfortably. “I know you’re not going to change, not quickly, anyway, and normally I try to pick my battles… try to come to an internal compromise that will let me live with my conscience and yet be compassionate of your situation…”

“Are you done confessing you’ve been trying to convert me?” He wasn’t even offended by her naive arrogance, just amused that she was so open about it and yet unaware what she was doing.

Her eyes went wide. “I-I wasn’t! Although now that you mention it, it sounds like I was. Well, I… I’m not sorry about that, I’m trying to be true to myself too, and I’m… not _supposed_ to let people get hurt, you know? But that includes you, and in this instance, I let my emotions get the better of me, and I shouldn’t have. I’ve done a lot of meditating over the last couple days, and it’s led me to resolve to try harder. Uh, that is, to do better.” She added under her breath, “ _There is no try_.”

“I think you’re fine the way you are,” he said, before he’d registered that those words could be taken as flirtatious. He felt a spike of nerves. To cover up, or hope she didn’t notice? “Anyway, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Even the manipulation, honestly. _That_ was a futile endeavour… It wasn’t like she’d be able to turn him into a Jedi.

“So I’m forgiven, then?” she said plaintively.

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I’m not upset that you’re upset about Sith being stupid. Listen, if I don’t die, I’ll make the Sith stop being stupid.” By killing all of them, but he was _pretty_ sure she would balk at that part.

That squeezed an unexpected laugh out of her. “Don’t make silly promises. I’ll be happy if you just let me stay with you.”

“You really set the bar too low,” he grumbled, and she shrugged cheerfully.

“Okay, then maybe you should apologize for fighting too.”

“All right.” He hesitated a brief moment. He hadn’t said anything _wrong_ , had he, in their little spat? Everything he’d said had been correct, and he wasn’t exactly sorry, but it would make her feel better and… and the words coming out of his mouth were shockingly genuine. “I’m sorry I made you upset. I… missed you.” He shouldn’t have said that, even if it was true.

“Aww.” She reached out to touch his hand, and he didn’t move, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted even her touch right now. Her fingers were warm on his, surprisingly warm considering it was only about fifteen degrees _inside_. “I forgive you, and I missed you too.”

It was surprisingly cathartic, and he felt weirdly vulnerable about it. He tried to cover with sarcasm. “So tell me, did you come to this conclusion because you heard we were going to the Sadow’een temple tomorrow?”

Her eyes widened. “What!? No! I honestly- Oh. You’re teasing me.”

“Because your timing is a bit suspicious.”

She pouted. “I mean, I guess we can have another fight if you want me to prove I wasn’t apologizing for fun and profit.”

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” he said. “Being on Hoth is tiring.”

“You’re absolutely right about that,” she said, smiling in agreement. “I’ll save it until we’re back on the Viper.”

Later that evening, in his temporary quarters at Thesh Outpost, Murlesson found his personal comm going off. He flicked it on and saw Aristheron’s bearded face. “Murlesson. Do you have a moment?”

“I do, actually.” Very good timing on Aristheron’s part, in between all the tedious traveling and the prowling around archaeological sites. And Aristheron surely had no idea what the local time was for him; it was lucky he hadn’t called in the middle of the night. “What do you need?”

“I need nothing; I called to ask yet again if you would not consider joining the military through normal channels.”

Murlesson stiffened. “You found something for me.”

“Yes, well, _before_ I advocate disrupting the functions of the military – inherent faults notwithstanding, I probably know them better than you, before you say anything – I thought I’d try one more time. I’m not fond of the idea of you crashing into the middle of operations to make off with the sort of force you’re looking for, untested, for inter-Sith strife while the Empire is trying to gear up for galactic war. I’m all in favour of maintaining one’s own holdings against one’s rivals, but there are _procedures_ to be followed. And I’m assuming you’re not planning to give it back when you’re done so you can start again properly.”

Murlesson gave him a pained smile. “And how long would it take me to gain a force large enough to protect myself and my bases, starting from the lower middle as an untested, as you say, junior alien of a Sith? Thanaton could run roughshod over anything I could gain at entry level, given I don’t have your contacts.”

“You have _me_ as a contact,” Aristheron said in exasperation. “Not all preferentialism is bad when it elevates someone deserving.”

Like Colonel Yudrass? “Just tell me what you found. I might not have time to follow through any time soon anyway.”

Aristheron grimaced. “Very well. There is a moff named Jovakor Bilsane who commands the Forty-Fourth Imperial fleet. He is a dishonourable bully, abusing his position for personal gain and to further the interests of his patron – whom you will be interested to learn, is Thanaton himself.”

Murlesson smiled a sharp smile. “That makes him an audacious target. To steal one of Thanaton’s own fleets…”

“Bilsane isn’t the only one you should know about,” Murlesson said. “Admiral Pyron, next in the chain of command, is a good and competent man, but was unfortunately transferred to the Forty-Fourth some time ago. He could be a Moff by now, but for some hidden politics that I have no desire to get involved in.”

“That’s more my thing anyway,” Murlesson said. “So you’re suggesting I remove Bilsane and put Pyron in his place, and it would be beneficial to the Empire?” More importantly, it would place Pyron in a debt to him, unless Pyron considered it more of a burden than a promotion. Unlikely.

Aristheron gave him a dry look. “I know you’re not as patriotic as I am, but I appreciate the thought. Yes, Pyron would be much better for the Empire. He doesn’t order bombardments of civilian targets, or execute underlings for minor transgressions.”

“Or eat babies,” Murlesson murmured to himself. Really, half the senior officers in the fleets were rumoured to do at least one of those things. Bilsane didn’t stand out for being cruel.

On the other hand, these rumours of politics intrigued him. He’d have to do some digging, once he got out of here.

Aristheron glanced off to the side, then back to him. “I must go. I hope your journey is going well.”

“Quite well, depending on who you ask,” Murlesson said, a non-answer if ever there was one. “I hope yours is too. Crush the Republic and all that.”

Aristheron smiled slightly. “We’re not at war yet.”

“Shows how much I know.” Or care. “Good night.”

“Good bye.”

His whole team was assembled, alongside Drellik’s entire team, but the Reclamation Service would be setting up camp outside the cave entrance while he took Drellik and his companions inside to challenge whatever lay in wait there.

Almost immediately, they were met with more droids like the one he’d seen frozen outside, and combat erupted between them. Murlesson blasted them with lightning, which stunned them long enough for Khem and Ashara to wade in, and Revel picked off the outliers.

And then electricity struck before them, one of the ancient traps. Too obvious; Murlesson hadn’t even been close to being caught in it. But where there was one obvious trap, surely there was another, less obvious trap…

Lasers! He spun and parried, and Revel began shooting the hidden beam mounts out of the wall methodically. This tomb was a lot more modern than the one he’d gone into on Yavin 4.

But surely there must be… “Lieutenant, is there some control access about?”

“I’m scanning for it now, my lord, a moment, please.”

“Yeah, it would make it a lot easier if we could just walk in,” Revel said.

“And then you can study the defenses too!” Ashara put in, taking over deflecting shots from him. She was better at it. “I wonder how many intruders they were expecting? This isn’t so bad.”

“Some of them are probably broken,” Murlesson said. “This would have been built nearly two thousand years ago, and while ancient Force users were much stronger than the present day, ancient technology is not usually as good.”

“Is there some kind of correlation there, do you think?” Ashara asked, beginning to slow down as Revel shot out the last couple emplacements. Khem, who was not useful against lasers, grumbled quietly and tapped his bare clawed feet.

He shrugged. “There could be, or there could be many other causes for our decline in power and ability. Some have argued one way, others another. I would lean against the correlation theory myself, but I don’t feel I know enough to pick a theory and fight for it.”

“What do you think then?” Revel asked, spinning his blaster and then holstering it.

He hesitated. “Not that I’ve thought about it _much_ , but I am more inclined to believe that over the millennia, the minds of most sentient species have become more and more closed off to the Force. And I couldn’t explain why.”

“Well, I hope you’re not going to say ancient peoples were smarter than us, or that we’ve gotten lazy,” Ashara said. “I’m pretty sure people have always been people, just developing the skill sets that suit their environment.”

“I’ll agree with you there,” Murlesson said. “I guess there’s also the fact that a lot of metaphysical knowledge has been lost, whether from masters taking their secrets to the grave, or the destruction of holocrons and artefacts…”

“Which is why our work here is so important,” Drellik said. “To obliterate all this history without a trace… why, we’d be orphaning ourselves. A culture needs the hand of the past to guide it. I think I’ve located the security controls, by the by. If they haven’t rusted completely away…”

Murlesson was still on his train of thought as they followed Drellik back a short ways and into a side passage he hadn’t seen on the way in. “And for all the Sith Empire’s alchemists and sorcerers scrabble at rediscovering lost techniques, there simply isn’t enough innovation to bring back the Sith to what they used to be.”

“Which is good, because the Jedi don’t exactly move quickly either, especially when it comes to researching new combat techniques,” Ashara grumbled.

Drellik looked in surprise at her, in between examining the wall with a hand-held scanner. “Miss Ashara, you’re a Jedi?”

“Oops,” she said, looking stricken. She looked at Murlesson, and he nodded for her to keep going. “Um, yes, I am. Murlesson didn’t try to turn me to the Dark Side when I joined him, and I appreciate it.”

“Fascinating,” Drellik said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about what you know of Jedi history. Research on them is, naturally, somewhat restricted in the Empire, but we could fill in a lot of blanks, I think, if we knew both sides of the stories!”

Ashara perked up again. “I’d love to! Not that I’d be much help personally, but I’ll do my best. And… thanks for not turning me in.”

“I’m not going to question Lord Murlesson,” Drellik said heartily. “And, here we are! Let’s see if it’s still working.” He brought out a small hammer and began to tap the ice in a few places, until a small sheet cracked and fell from the wall to shatter on the floor. Behind it was a small bronzed panel. Drellik peered at it. “Hmm, let’s see… Everything looks as good as new from the outside. That’s one benefit of working on a frozen world, at least. Not like a swamp world, or Emperor forbid, an urban world. Hopefully the internal mechanisms and computers also work!” He pulled a lever and pushed a few buttons.

There was the sound of something powering down, and the lights came on, to boot. Drellik clapped his hands. “How lovely! Whatever power generator this place is using still functions perfectly.”

“Pretty sure the traps already told us that,” Revel said.

Drellik shook a finger at him. “There’s a difference between being in a passive, monitoring mode for two thousand years, only activating for brief moments of time, and being asked to return to active functions suddenly. We will have to check the power generator, however, and make sure it isn’t on its last legs. Well, let’s see if that did the trick with the rest of the traps and guardians.”

The traps seemed to be disabled, from what Murlesson could sense – no threatening vibes came through the Force to him as they returned to the main corridor and moved inwards. But the droids hadn’t gotten the signal, and suddenly swarmed them as they got close to a very large and ornate door. Khem snarled and began to cleave them in half without waiting for orders. He wasn’t very satisfied, Murlesson could tell – droids were not very good for sating bloodlust.

“Lieutenant, if you’d like to get started on the door, we’ll deal with the droids,” Murlesson said, twirling his lightsaber.

“Right away, my lord! Let me see…” Drellik began muttering to himself, probing and poking at the door. They were backed rather into a corner in front of the door, but there were four of them. The droids didn’t stand a chance. Ashara was doing very well, and as their opponents thinned out, he dropped back as she pushed forwards. He didn’t mean to watch her, but she was eyecatching, her twin blue sabers flashing fluidly as she blocked a shot with one and decapitated a droid with another. No, impressing her with his combat skills was not an option, not when she was so much better than him already.

He blinked and shook his head. That was random, and irrelevant, and he hadn’t thought about impressing her for weeks, why was he thinking it now?

About the same time Revel shot the last droid, Drellik gave a cry of triumph and the door ponderously began to grind open. Drellik trotted through, somewhat careless of any potential danger on the other side, gasping at the carved stone walls. “Unbelievable! These look like the catacombs. The rest of the temple must’ve been above, now destroyed by the elements. Once again, I must express my gratitude that you are allowing me to record everything.”

“I truly wish I didn’t have to, but I don’t fancy holding off increasing waves of Thanaton’s forces while we look for this stupid ship.”

< _That is what minions are for_ ,> Khem grumbled sourly. < _Tulak Hord would have sent me out to devour-_ >

“Tulak Hord would have done whatever necessary to attain power as quickly as possible,” Murlesson said sharply. “So would Naga Sadow. So would they all. They would have made a beeline here, recorded it, and destroyed it immediately, rather than wiffling about for a week. _I’m_ the sentimental fool who wasted time.”

Khem growled.

“I don’t think you’re a sentimental fool,” Ashara began.

“You know I’m right,” Murlesson said to Khem; he could feel Khem’s displeasure both at being corrected, and that Murlesson was a sentimental fool. “Here, if you let Zash out to play with the shiny toys, I’ll let you destroy it all once we’re done.”

Khem glared at him. < _Destroying the bones of the dead is nothing compared to slaughtering the living_.>

“Says the Dashade hung up about recovering Tulak Hord’s bones.” Apparently Zash had had a small hidden warehouse here on Hoth, unrecorded in even her deepest files – sneaky, he would have to do that for his own secrets – in which she had placed several unbelievable treasures, including several pieces of Tulak Hord’s skeleton. She had intended to use them as leverage over Khem after she took over Murlesson’s body, but they were useless to her now. They were now safely stored on the Viper. What Khem wanted to do with them after they got out of here, he didn’t know yet. Cuddle with them, maybe.

Khem grumbled wordlessly, then faded away.

“Ah, apprenti- Murlesson!” Zash cried cheerfully. “What have you summoned me for? Ah, we’re in the catacombs of the Sadow’een, aren’t we?”

Drellik blinked. Murlesson wondered whether it was worth explaining Zash _again_ , to yet another person. It was to Drellik’s credit that he was taking all these revelations about his odd little band in stride. “We’re about to begin cataloguing everything before I let Khem smash it, so… have at it.”

“With pleasure,” she said, turning to Drellik. “You, ah, Lieutenant, would you happen to have a lens I could borrow? This creature’s eyesight is not so good for small details.”

“Er,” Drellik said, staring up at the intimidating beast asking for a magnifying glass. “I suppose I do! Lord Murlesson, perhaps I could now call my team in and we can begin in this antechamber while you secure the rest of the catacombs?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Murlesson said, and gestured for Revel and Ashara to follow him.

Drellik was extremely thorough with his team in recording everything possible, from every angle, 3D scans and holos and measurements and molecular testing and everything Murlesson could have thought of to record what had been there.

It took most of the three days he’d allotted to get it all done, but at length it was. It had been wonderful, to watch professionals at work, to have Drellik show him personally how to document everything properly, the techniques for testing and everything; he wondered if he’d ever had such a willing student before. Ashara had helped too, and even Zash-in-Khem’s body, and Revel had strutted around as ‘security’ even though there wasn’t much left to bother them. And as the Reclamation Service unit packed up their things when they were finished and prepared to leave, he felt melancholy. Yes, they’d done everything they could to save what could be known for posterity, but… he’d gotten to know the things here, the place, gotten attached in a way he’d told himself not to and couldn’t help… He really was a sentimental fool. Deliberately, he hardened his will and his gaze. “Khem.”

Zash sighed. “I suppose it’s back to sleep for me. I’ll see you next time. Have fun!”

“I’m sure Khem will have great fun,” he said drily, as Khem shook himself, growling. “We’re done. Have at it.”

< _As you wish, my master_ ,> Khem said, and drew his broadsword.

There were a few things that a broadsword couldn’t deal with, and he had to help out with his lightsaber, hacking viciously at the urns, the sarcophagi, the smaller items left by those last in the catacombs.

It took a lot less time than documenting it, and after half an hour, covered in sweat, he was reasonably sure he’d gotten ‘every relic, every bone, every ornate bauble”. He activated his comm. “Drellik, it’s done. I’m coming out.”

“Understood, my lord.”

As he reached the entrance where his team was waiting, Khem behind him, Revel stiffened and drew his blaster; Murlesson hadn’t sensed danger, and turned to see one of the fallen droids following him, the Force dragging it upright in a mockery of functionality. It spoke, using the droid’s vocabulator, in Basic. “Thank you, Sith, for your help.”

Drellik gasped, and began taking holos. “Fascinating! How is this possible? It doesn’t appear to be technological…”

The droid spread its arms. “To see those pawns of Naga Sadow crushed, their graves defiled. Normally I’d consider myself above revenge, but this… pleases me.”

“No one else cares,” Murlesson said, affecting boredom. “I think I liked your old puppets better. More lifelike.”

“I find Naga Sadow’s droid aesthetic somewhat lacking myself,” Horak-Mul retorted, holding up a robot hand and examining it with a robot eye in distaste. Murlesson kept his cool. Naga Sadow was not overly known for his droids; Horak-Mul was just trying to get a rise out of him.

“The ghost!” Drellik exclaimed in a whisper. “Never in a million years…”

“Only just put it together?” Revel said. “The sinister feeling didn’t give it away right off the bat?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Andronikos already shot this one,” Ashara said. “The dead don’t just rise, even if they are droids.”

Khem snorted. < _A coward’s trick_.>

“You should keep a tighter rein on your minions, young Sith,” Horak-Mul advised him.

“That’s none of your business,” Murlesson said. “Where are you? What’s left of you? I held up my end of the bargain.”

“And I will hold up mine. The Starrunner may be found in the belly of the mighty superdreadnaught Star of Coruscant, in the graveyard of ships. I landed it there for safekeeping after I crushed its foolish captain. There, you will find me.”

“Of course! That’s why we couldn’t find it,” Drellik said. “It would be nearly impossible to find a ship if it were hidden inside another ship! I… know the place, but it’s swarming with pirates – White Maw, I think they’re called. Not exactly connoisseurs of the historical.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Murlesson said. “They won’t even notice me.” Time to sneak.

“I wait expectantly for your arrival,” Horak-Mul said, and the droid crumbled to the ground in pieces, the damage from Revel’s prior blaster bolt popping pieces out of the chassis in a spray of debris.

“Unbelievable!” Drellik exclaimed. He certainly liked that word. “One minute it’s walking around good as new, and the next… I wonder if he’d be offended if I keep it. Oh, there’s better equipment for analysis at the base near here. It’s on the way to the ship graveyard, as fortune would have it.”

“Then let’s head there at once,” Murlesson said. “We need to anyway, it’s starting to get dark.”

He went into the ship graveyard alone. Both Khem and Ashara were upset about that, for different reasons, but he was firm. Khem might have been able to sneak as well as him, but he wanted to do this alone.

“Be careful,” Ashara told him anxiously, before he left, and he wondered at how his hearts skipped a beat at that.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “I’ll be fine.”

She grimaced, clearly not believing him, but she let him go.

The trip to the Star of Coruscant through the ship graveyard was a long one, riding his speeder bike past vast behemoths of ships crashed untold years and centuries ago. They towered over the landscape – no, they _were_ the landscape, the sun weakly shimmering over the backs of their hulls, metallic outcroppings casting cold blue shadows across the faint trails he rode along. The Force was quiet here. There was little life besides the pirates, and they were weak, feeble minds that made hardly an impression on the metaphysical environment.

He could only get half-way by speeder before the White Maw’s defenses became too thick for him to safely evade. He hid his speeder behind a small piece of wreckage and set out on foot.

Everything was so still and quiet. It felt like he was the only person on the planet, the old snow underfoot barely crunching under his boots. The wind made strange music as it whistled between the bones of ruined vessels and the icicles that had formed on them over the years.

It took him another few hours to make it to the superdreadnaught, walking paths where he sensed the fewest people before him, keeping his aim on the dark presence that drew him onward.

It was so quiet without the roar of his speeder. He should have brought Khem after all. He found his thoughts unwelcomely introspective, found himself doubting his past decisions. Was there anyway he could have avoided this path in life entirely?

That was easy. If he’d picked another week to escape Netokos, Lachris wouldn’t have been there. He would have disappeared into Commenor’s underbelly and… and he would never have grown as he had. He wouldn’t have had the chance to study history as enthusiastically as he wanted. He wouldn’t have met Ashara.

She was beautiful. And strong. He wanted to talk to her more after this, if he made it back. Even if they ended up fighting.

Once he made it to the Star of Coruscant, he stopped briefly to rest – not too long, in case of freezing – and slipping within, easily evading the White Maw patrols. The dark presence beckoned from the depths, and he dropped between floors through panels shaken loose or ripped apart by pirates looking for raw materials.

He came to the belly of the beast, found himself in a hangar that was still open to the world on the far side, though the light filtering in was growing dim. And here, there was life. A number of armed and armoured aliens, reminding him of Xalek from Korriban, all with a darkness around them that suggested Horak-Mul was controlling them.

They couldn’t be left around to get in his way, and he began to hunt. They were some kind of warriors, he could tell, but what did strength matter against an assassin? He didn’t use his lightsaber. The light and sound would give him away. A vibroblade would more than work for him. He was like a shadow, creeping through the dark corners of the hangar, behind debris and crates, targeting the warriors he could isolate easily, stabbing them in the back or cutting their throat before they could make noise and alarm the whole lot of them.

They never saw him as he carried out his grim work and slaughtered the lot of them, one by one, hiding their bodies away from the light. His hands were covered in blood when he was done, sticky and cooling quickly. He threw away his gloves rather than try to clean them. It was quickest, though his bare hands were half-numb already.

The Starrunner was a small freighter that had crashed side-long into the hangar, leaving deep gouges on the floor. Its ramp was down, though with half its landing gear broken the ship listed to one side, leaving the end of the ramp hovering in midair. He jumped up lightly to the ramp and into the ship, and stopped short.

The ghost waited for him in the main hold, its arms spread wide in welcome. Horak-Mul was apparently of the Sith species, judging from his facial protrusions, even if the colour of his skin had been lost. “My savior and avenger! My heart is light – almost as if I were alive again. You have a gift. The way you cut through my guardians was most satisfactory. I am sorry, but I’ve always been vain, and surrender is not a pill I swallow easily.”

“Nor I,” Murlesson rejoined, his voice hoarse from not being used all day. “Now let’s get on with it. I’ve waited long enough.”

“As you say,” Horak-Mul said. “Before you perform the ritual, promise me that you will release me when your enemies are defeated and you no longer need my power. Seal the promise with your blood, and I will submit willingly to your control.”

“Why?” Murlesson demanded, suddenly ten times more suspicious than he had been. Forcedammit, dead Sith were trickier than living ones.

“I just told you. I do not surrender easily. I will allow you to wield me for a time, amuse myself through your actions, and then return to my rest.”

 _Sith never achieved fulfillment_ , he remembered saying to Ashara. _Sith are selfish_ , he remembered her saying to him. He didn’t believe a word Horak-Mul was saying, but he was selfish himself. “I think not.”

“I won’t go easily!” Horak-Mul roared, but Murlesson was already initiating the ritual, forming the mnemonics that would take that mass of sapient Force-power into his own. Horak-Mul screamed, lashing out, but it was too late, he had already begun to capture him, overpower him with his own obscene strength. The ghost evaporated like it had been blown away in a strong wind, its last shriek echoing in the Force.

He staggered and fell to his knees yet again, collapsing to the floor with a tormented moan, though fresh power surged through him. Oh gods, his head was pounding, agony lancing through his skull. It had never been bad like this before. Sure, when he bound the Yavin 4 ghost, it had hurt, but it had hurt his whole body since he hadn’t prepared his essence to take it on properly. He thought he had this time, and he was certainly stronger than the ghost, but…

The room swam before his eyes; his head was splitting. No! He was stronger than this. He wouldn’t let a stupid ghost fight him. He gritted his teeth and focused, clamping down on his new stolen power. It thrashed wildly before he managed to submerge it in his own dark strength.

His aura must have been terrifying, he mused as he rose to his feet. Barely under his control, it seethed, bulging monstrously to bleed into the space around him. It was very difficult for him now to hide it as he used to. And what good was a Force assassin who could be sensed coming?

He’d work on it.

He stayed on the Starrunner for the night, no matter how uncomfortable or creepy it was to be near the sarcophagus that, even if he’d absorbed the spirit of its inhabitant, still had a body in it presumably, near the half-preserved bodies of the crew scattered throughout the ship. But he wasn’t returning to Frostwake Outpost during the night. That was suicide, temperatures falling to negative seventies, even negative eighties. At least he was sheltered here.

His dreams crawled uneasily through his skull, but he didn’t remember them when he woke, which was nice. But he still ached, and his perpetual migraine hurt worse than ever. Maybe this wasn’t good for his health.

He could worry about his health when Thanaton’s was non-existent.

Returning from the Star of Coruscant was as desolate as traveling to it, but instead of isolation, death, and torture at his journey’s end, he arrived to find his team waiting for him, all glad to see him back, ready to smother him with blankets and hot food and drink. Ashara hugged him through the blankets. “I’m glad you made it. And you were successful, huh? Sure feels like it.”

He concentrated on filling his face, mostly. “Yes.”

“Good. Even Khem was worried. You could have called to let us know you were all right.”

“And let the pirates know I was around? I told you before.”

“So, next stop, Dromund Kaas?” Revel asked.

Murlesson glared at him without any vehemence in it. “Let a man have some food and rest before planning our next step.” Revel chuckled.

They made it back to Dorn Base two days later. Thanaton’s apprentices had reached the planet, but once he ascertained their location, he took Khem and went to hunt them.

They were on the road heading to Leth Outpost, so he sent Khem out to draw them out. It wasn’t long before they came into view, and screeched to a halt, surrounding Khem. “Look, it’s the monster! Its master can’t be far away.”

< _Little Sith, little Sith,_ > Khem growled hungrily, and Murlesson grinned to himself that he wasn’t the only one Khem called that. < _You will sate me well. Come, meet the devourer of the rebels at Yn and Chabosh…_ >

“Shut up, gargle-face,” said one of them, jumping from her speeder and swinging with her lightsaber. Khem parried, and then they were all three on him at once.

They were good, he could tell; Khem was hard-pressed from the beginning, completely on the defensive, giving up ground like it was going out of style. But Murlesson was in position, behind them, unsensed. He was getting stronger at controlling his burgeoning power, to minimize its impact, to make himself as unnoticable as before.

The one in the middle got a lightsaber through his back and fell with a rasp. The other two jumped, spinning to face him. “How did he get there!?” “Quick, kill him!!”

Khem cleaved one of them, and together they made short work of the other. Skill wasn’t very useful when they didn’t notice their opponent coming.

He was almost disappointed. Why had he been so afraid of them? Thanaton was losing his edge. He wouldn’t fear him any longer.

Before leaving the planet, Murlesson stopped in with Colonel Yudrass while the others went on ahead. “Colonel. How goes your command?”

“No issues,” Yudrass said. “I must thank you again for the honour you bestowed upon me. Commander Tritan has been unswervingly loyal during this transition, and the Republic has grown quiet after their recent attempts to assault Dorn Base were proven ill-advised.”

“Glad to hear it,” Murlesson said. And hesitated. “Should you ever wish to transfer into my service, I would be happy to have you.” He could do with another competent strategist, but Yudrass was a complicated being, and his feelings were not clear.

Yudrass smiled slightly. “It would be an honour; however, I must go where the Empire needs me.” A proper patriot, then.

“A man like you, Yudrass, will be needed everywhere you go. It is the curse of your qualifications. But think of me, should you ever wish to leave this icy prison.”

“I will, my lord. Thank you again.”

And on the space station where the Viper was docked, Murlesson heard a hail and stopped to look. It was Drellik, hurrying up with his kit bag, trotting up to him thoroughly out of breath. “My lord! I hoped to catch you before you left! I, um, I have resigned from the service. The military just isn’t the best use of my talents. I feel I could serve the Empire better… by, um, by helping you. If you’ll let me.”

Murlesson felt his face slacken in pleased surprise. “I would be delighted. It would be an honour to have you on board.”

“I promise, I won’t let you- wait, you will?” Drellik apparently had assumed he’d have to argue a lot harder. Had he forgotten how enthusiastic Murlesson had been at their first meeting? “Great. Great! Thank you! You won’t regret it. I have military training – rifles, small arms, grenades – and I’m the _best_ in the galaxy at finding rare artefacts, if I may say so. I _promise_ , I won’t let you down.”

“Welcome aboard,” Murlesson said, and found himself smiling at him. “There’s not a lot of room left on my ship, but it doesn’t look like you brought much…?”

“Just my kit bag,” Drellik said, hoisting it onto his frail shoulders and marching alongside Murlesson’s longer stride to the Viper’s docking port. “I brought a lot of my personal tools, but the larger pieces belonged to the Reclamation Service, of course.”

“I can get you more,” Murlesson said absently. “Just let me know what you want. Anything you need, I will obtain for you.”

Drellik’s eyes became round. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Murlesson considered. “At least ask me before you assume it’s too big or expensive. I have my resources.”

“That’s very generous, my lord!”

“History is my passion, and not just because it’s kept me alive since before I became Sith,” Murlesson said. “If you can help me with it, you can have whatever you need.”

“Thank you, my lord! I will do my best to live up to your expectations!”

Ashara met them in the airlock. “Oh, hi! You’re coming too? That’s good. I know Murlesson’s really happy about it.”

He stared at her flatly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! Anyone can tell even if they’re more Force-deaf than an Ugnaught! Anyway, I can show you around, if you like.”

“That’s very good of you, Miss Ashara.”

“Since we’re gonna be travel companions, you should just call me Ashara. So over here’s the dorms, if you want to drop off your stuff…”

A while later, after he’d caught up on messages from Rylee and Destris, he sought out Ashara and found her in the engine room again. “How are you?” he asked, a bit lamely. He knew how she was, he could feel her spirit. But what was he supposed to say?

“I’m pretty good,” she said. “I’m still sorry I was so harsh about the Empire earlier. There’s just a lot I’m still trying to process.”

“I imagine it’s overwhelming to suddenly jump in with the other side,” Murlesson said, leaning on the guard rail. “You _were_ essentially kidnapped.” He made a self-deprecating smirk. “You know, if we ever run into any Jedi who don’t want to kill me on sight, you could spin it that way. I murdered your masters and stole you away.”

She made a disgruntled face at him. “First of all, I can’t lie; second of all, why would you want to steal _me_? The logic doesn’t hold up.”

“You’re wise,” he blurted out, then hesitated. “You think differently from me, and that makes you valuable. If everyone thought the same, imagine how easy it would be to exploit vulnerabilities.”

“W-well,” she stammered, apparently as startled as he was at his words. “I’m honoured that you consider me wise. My masters didn’t.”

He hesitated. “Would you clarify something for me?” _This is a mistake this is a mistake_. “Are… _all_ relationships forbidden to Jedi?”

“’All relationships’?” she quoted him with a raised eyebrow. “We have lots of relationships. We have siblings, families, friends, masters.”

He just looked at her. Her willfully dense shield wouldn’t last long.

And it didn’t, but she blushed brightly and turned away quickly, closing her Force-sense off from him. “Look, I need… I mean, I haven’t done today’s meditation. I need to train.”

“O-okay.” He stepped backwards, quickly, trying not to look like he was fleeing the room. Even though he definitely was.

Frak, he was stupid. He liked her, true, he wanted to spend time with her, get close to her… but he didn’t believe in romantic relationships. Revel didn’t believe in romantic relationships. The Sith didn’t believe in romantic relationships. It was just his stupid hormonal body… He had to fight it. She could be a horrible liability if he got any more attached to her.

On the other hand, he could turn this to his advantage… He’d been curious if he could play a really out-of-character role, and a romantic hero would really be as far from his regular personality as he could get. Yes, if he could get her to go out with him, he could practice in case he ever needed to do it in a serious situation.

He laughed bitterly at himself. Yes, there was no possible way this could go wrong. Haaaa.

She came into his cabin the next day, holding her hands behind her back diffidently. “Hey, um, I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to end the conversation so abruptly.”

“It’s fine,” he said, getting up from his workstation to talk to her directly. “It wasn’t a very good conversation anyway.” And getting away had given him time to think.

“It’s not that… It’s just… Jedi aren’t supposed to become romantically attached.”

He looked up, quirked an eyebrow at her. “So… you do like me…?”

She blushed and looked away. “Jedi are supposed to be wary of attachments, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to you.”

“You probably shouldn’t be,” he said, uncertain if he were fishing for compliments or not. “My life is dangerous. I’m dangerous.”

She smiled a little. “I don’t think you’re dangerous. I mean, not to me. I think you’re sweet.”

He coughed a little, looking at the deck, vastly embarrassed. “Er. Well. Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?”

“Um, sure,” she said, looking almost as awkward as he felt. “I… um, I’ve never actually been on a date before. It’ll be fun, right?”

“R-right,” he said. “When we get to Commenor, then. We’ll dress like normal people and act like normal people. Just for once.” Get her in an arrangement where she’d accept him acting wildly different from how she normally knew him.

“We’ll need to _get_ normal clothes then, first,” she said, and he stiffened. He hadn’t thought it completely through. He didn’t know style, and certainly not what people were wearing these days. “Do we have time for shopping, like, the afternoon before?”

“Er… would you help me find something, then?” he asked, trying not to let his alarm leak into his voice.

She smiled. “I think Andronikos would be better to ask about that. I’m going to have my hands full picking an outfit for me! Talk to Andronikos, talk to Talos, see what they have to say?”

“Er… right. I will. Um. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” she echoed hesitantly. It was still several days to Commenor. Oh boy, this wasn’t going to be awkward at all.


	18. Dance with the Devil in the Pale Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey are you ready for some tooth-rotting fluffy fluff? I’m ready for some tooth-rotting fluffy fluff! :D Does it count as dancing with the devil if the devil can’t dance?
> 
> Date night soundtrack is [SPARKING!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02kPS5LwE6o) from Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun! If you find a translation of the lyrics, they’re weirdly appropriate! <3

Part 18: Dance with the Devil in the Pale Moonlight

He found himself nervous as the time they’d set to go out drew nearer, and he had no idea why. It wasn’t logical, he’d watched all of Lightning Strikes My Heart and half a dozen other holodramas that had at least a romantic subplot, he _knew_ what to do and how to act. And it was Ashara, who… was actually intimidating in her mysterious femininity, or feminine mysteriousness, or something, was that the problem? He knew how women in holodramas acted, he knew how Ashara acted, but he didn’t know how Ashara-as-a-woman acted. And… he… wanted things to go ‘well’, whatever that meant. He guessed it meant Ashara enjoying herself, and him successfully carrying off the role.

Sithspit, he was nervous. At least his head wasn’t hurting too badly. He scrubbed his palms on his rough black trousers, adjusted the black leather jacket over his dark red tunic, and keyed open the door of his cabin. Revel had been surprisingly helpful… once he got over his laughing fit.

Ashara was just coming out of the refresher, and he stopped dead. _By the moons of Iego_ … If he’d never seen her as a woman before, he couldn’t help it now. She was wearing make-up, or at least something that made her face look different – glowier, smoother than normal. And a red halter top that showed about an inch of midriff, and white short-shorts, little white fingerless gloves, and gold thigh-high stockings with white boots. Her blue-and-white-striped lekku stood out brightly against all her orange skin, and he blushed deeply to see so much of her skin, his face and ears burning. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a woman’s skin before, he could see anything on the holonet, and often did whether he wanted to or not, but it was _Ashara’s_ skin and he really wasn’t sure how to process that yet.

He was tempted to slap himself to stop himself staring, but refrained, instead dragging himself back to making eye contact and giving her as sexy a smile as he could manage. He’d been practicing in the mirror, so he was pretty confident in it. “You look great.”

“You too,” she said, grinning.

He offered her his arm, even though that was probably supposed to be for more formal situations. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, let’s.” She grabbed his hand casually and headed for the docking ramp; he nearly got dragged but managed to send a signal to his feet to start walking in time. Frak, he needed to get himself under control. Not a great start for him.

He’d reserved a booth in one of the nicer bars in the spaceport area, and they sat across from each other, dimly lit in faint gold light, with a fruity orange Fuzzy Tauntaun for her – hadn’t she had enough of Hoth for now? – and lum for him. His new false ID had stood up to scrutiny, putting him at eighteen, just over the local legal drinking age. Come to think of it, he’d never told Ashara his age, and he was pretty sure she thought he was the same age that she was, twenty-ish. He had no intentions of disabusing her of the notion until it was unavoidable.

He could change his age in his official records, there was nothing saying he couldn’t- no, this was not a night for scheming. This was a night for acting. He smiled at Ashara. “How’s your drink?”

“It’s good!” she said cheerfully. She looked like a goddess in this lighting. He probably looked like a demon. But hopefully an attractive demon, after how much the jacket had cost. “Yummy. You want to try?”

“Thanks, I’m good,” he said, and sipped his own drink. The music was kind of loud, but at least it wasn’t ear-splitting like a lot of the other bars around. “So I’ve been wondering-” he hadn’t, but whatever- “if you could go anywhere you wanted in the galaxy, where would you go?”

“Like, for work, or for fun, or…?” she squinted suspiciously at him.

“Either?” He tried another smile.

“Hmm… Well, I mean, Alderaan is pretty high on my list. I’ve seen holos! It’s gorgeous! They really value their natural beauty, and they keep their history well-recorded. And you know, I’ve heard good things about the food and the people, even if I’ve also heard the politics there are kind of crazy. What about you?”

“I went to Alderaan once,” he said casually. _Be suave_. “It was quite lovely, like you.” _Nice_.

“Aww, thanks,” she said, and giggled, blushing harder than he’d seen her blush before. So he wasn’t the only one affected by this unusual circumstance.

“I didn’t spend much time outside, regretfully. But I certainly admire their architecture.” Although whoever had built Elysium had more style than sense, in his personal belief.

“You should take me sometime!” She hesitated. “I mean, if you can. It’s got a lot of Republic leanings, it could be awkward.”

“There is a faction that’s friendly to the Empire as well. It wouldn’t be so hard to visit,” he told her. _Don’t make sarcastic comments about tourists_. More difficult would be finding a reason to go, probably. Especially since he was supposed to just be making meaningless small-talk that would keep her entertained and talking about herself, and he had no plans of actually going there unless it was necessary. “You enjoy trying new kinds of food, then?”

“Yeah! Lemme tell you-”

He managed to keep the conversation flowing smoothly, smiling and nodding in the right places, asking mildly flirtatious personal questions. It was more difficult than he’d anticipated; usually in the holodramas, something dramatic happened to interrupt the date after five minutes, or they did a timeskip past the ‘boring’ stuff to the kissing and/or the sex, and so he didn’t have a reference for the missing bits, but he managed. And all the while, she looked and sensed more and more confused.

At last, after her first drink, she stopped smiling and fixed him with an intense stare. “Who are you and what have you done with Murlesson?”

He blinked. What was he doing wrong? “What do you mean?”

Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “I _know_ this isn’t you. Why are you putting on an act for me?”

“You don’t like it?” he asked, suddenly frightened again. Was she going to leave?

“I like being treated this way, but it isn’t you,” she said gently. “I wanted to hang out with _you_ , not some holostar version of you. This other version of you is… it’s nice, but it’s…” She struggled for words, but her Force-sense spoke plainly enough. It bothered her. “It’s not _you_.”

“I d-don’t understand,” he stammered, all his preconceptions falling to pieces around him and leaving him in scared bewilderment. Without the façade of his ‘date’ persona, he didn’t know what to do. “I-I thought…”

She smiled at him, anxiously, reaching out to put a hand on his where it lay on the table. “It’s okay. I know we got all dressed up like normal people, and I put all this facepaint on, but we don’t have to follow other peoples’ courtship rituals. Let’s just hang out.”

He withdrew into himself, sulking a little, pulling his hand away and a knee up to his chest. And he didn’t know what to say. “Fine.”

She snorted. “ _Now_ I know that’s you. Grouch. Okay, I’m going to ask _you_ a question. Why do you like Naga Sadow so much?”

His gaze flicked back up to her. She’d got him. “He’s only the most genius tactician to ever live, he crushed all his rivals, and he would have successfully conquered the galaxy if it hadn’t been for the betrayal of his apprentice. I mean, he managed to plant assassins in his enemy’s fleet as trusted officers, and then they hijacked the ships they were on and threw the battle at Khar Delba into complete disarray in his favour. It was brilliant! I want to do that! Or something like it, anyway!”

She made a huge grin, along with something muttered that might have been something like “oh my god you’re a huge nerd”, but he couldn’t hear it over the background noise.

He rambled on before he could be insulted. “If only he’d turned his apprentice properly before he began doing things that poisoned his apprentice against him… Or at least not given him so much power so quickly, no matter the potential he showed. His only mistake… and the mistake of many Sith Lords before and since.” He sighed, hugging his knee. “But apprentices are so _useful_ , and it’s impossible to be in a position of invulnerability against them at all times, even when they _are_ properly aligned.”

“Are you excusing a common mistake?” she gasped with exaggerated outrage, mocking him.

He pouted. “I’m certain he never _trusted_ Daragon, but… with an apprentice of that power, integral to so much, how do you _guarantee_ he won’t mess things up at any moment? There must have been a thousand things he could have interfered with that would have ruined Naga Sadow’s plans, once he decided to betray him. Yes, he should have had a better contingency in place for the inevitable, and yes, I’m disappointed that my idol did not succeed at everything he set out to do, and in fact had a rather ignominious end, if Freedon Nadd is to be believed… On the other hand, that is the cycle of Sith – to be betrayed by one’s apprentice is a long and glorious tradition.” Which he said with completely flat sarcasm.

She snorted. “Well, you should be glad I’m a Jedi, then. Even if we grow to be at odds, I don’t intend to carry on that tradition. Or at least I don’t intend to take over from you.”

“You sure?” he asked, smirking. “The years are long, if I don’t die. You could become corrupted over time. Power’s addictive.”

“Ew, no!” she cried. “I’m doing my best here, lack of guidance notwithstanding. Besides, I’d be a terrible overlord. Overlady? Lady overlord. Oh my stars, watching you work is exhausting, I don’t want to do it myself.”

He couldn’t help it. He smiled. She was hilarious.

Her face lit up. “You can smile! A real smile! Holy nerfs!”

He rolled his eyes, slightly uncomfortable. “All right, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t. …Okay, so what do you think of Tulak Hord? I know Khem’s a big fan, but you haven’t given me many holocrons on him. Do you not like him or something?”

The conversation flowed faster now, passionate, argumentative, and as nerdy as a convention of Ithorian horticulturalists, except about history. He wasn’t sure how long they talked – an hour? Two? He was no longer forcing cheesy smiles onto his face or sitting up properly, and she seemed… happy? Was this really what made her happy? She shone when she was happy. There really was no comparison. …Was that what she’d been talking about with him?

“Have you been on any real archaeological digs yet?” she asked. “Besides Hoth?”

He glared at the table. “Hoth has been it so far, and it’s very annoying. I’ve been in tombs, but it’s only been to loot them for objects of power, I haven’t had time to do more. I’ve studied real artefacts, a little, but I want to _see_ them in context and not sterile isolation. I want to do more study than just absorb the research others have done before me, I want to discover things for myself. And then that stupid ghost demanded that I destroy everything instead of studying it. It’s good Drellik was there to help me document it first.”

“At least you’ve had that,” she said. “I love being outdoors, and I love history, but I don’t have enough training or focus to be a good archaeologist. I’m more in it for the stories, you know?”

“Lame,” he said, not really seriously.

“C’mon, all of sentient history can be boiled down to stories, unless you’re like a Verpine or something. No one really cares, otherwise.”

“The Jedi really need to branch out more.”

“The Jedi branch out a ton! I just wasn’t trying for archaeology, because I kick too much butt for that.” She bounced in her seat, flexing a little, and he snorted. She had amazing biceps, and she knew it.

“Why do Jedi even bother?” he demanded, slightly aware that he was becoming drunk and that he’d sent the conversation into a ninety-degree tailspin. “They can’t fix the entire galaxy, it’s a disgusting cesspool of sapient life using and abusing each other.”

“Yeah, but imagine if we didn’t do _anything_ , how much worse it would be! Every little bit helps even if we can’t possibly help everyone-”

“So you’re aware of that bit, I always wondered-”

“Oh, sure, we had counseling classes on that. Y’know, young Jedi, all gung-ho to get out and make a difference in the universe, save some lives, be a hero, blah blah blah. They _know_ we’re going to get in over our heads, to try and do too much, and that we could be swayed by pride so easily in all of it.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Exactly! I had to go to a lot of those classes because of my impulsiveness! I know I’m impulsive! But I can’t help it! It would have helped if I’d gotten to the stage where I was ready enough to have a Master, they’re supposed to lead by example and really hammer in what we’ve been taught in the enclaves with real-life experiences.”

“I’m not good enough?”

“You’re a terrible example,” she told him, smirking, and he snickered. Which made her laugh. “I mean it! I wouldn’t trust a youngling around you for ten minutes!”

“I eat younglings for breakfast,” he said. “Or uj cake, whichever’s easier to get.”

“Younglings are a _sometimes_ food,” she scolded him, and he actually laughed. By the Force, he made a genuine laugh. From the way her eyes and her aura were sparkling at him, she noticed too.

He recovered himself, although he still felt oddly, recklessly amused. The alcohol must really be getting to him. “Er… what were we talking about?”

“Jedi? Helping people? The futility of our pointless endeavours?” she said, mocking him still. “Look, it can be depressing that we can’t help everyone… but we can’t let ourselves get depressed. We always have to keep fighting, and I don’t just mean physically, we have to keep hoping and believing, otherwise we don’t get _anything_ done… and then the galaxy would really be screwed…”

Hoping and believing… “I can’t do that.” He dropped his head a little, feeling the melancholy wash over him again. He’d seen too much to hope.

She smiled at him gently. “That’s okay. I’ll do it for you.”

Silence dropped between them, but… for once it didn’t feel awkward. He didn’t know what to make of it. Although maybe his voice just needed a break from talking loudly over the music, and he needed another drink… although his head was starting to spin a little. At least it still wasn’t hurting badly. He’d had a few, probably enough. But…

Ashara chose that moment to bounce to her feet. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” he demanded, huddling away from her energy.

She leaned over to tug gently on his sleeve. “Let’s dance! There’s lots of people doing it over there, it’s a date thing, we should dance.”

“I don’t really want to.” But she pouted with those puffy pink lips, making sad brown eyes at him until he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, but just for a little bit.” More skillset development.

She grinned and took his hand, pulling him over to the crowded dance floor, right in the middle of everyone. The crowd had picked up since the start of the evening, but it was a good thing most people there weren’t paying attention – well, no, that wasn’t true, there was some attention on Ashara and her glorious physical charms, how she seemed to light up the room even if they didn’t have the Force-sensitivity to see how gorgeous she was spiritually as well.

“Okay,” she said, once she’d picked her spot. “Just groove to the music.” She couldn’t contain herself, already bobbing her head her head up and down, and her lekku tips were swaying hypnotically.

She put her arms around his neck, and he found himself suddenly gasping for breath as she stepped close to him; he put his hands uncertainly on her waist – oh gods there was that midriff gap in her clothes, he could feel the smooth skin of her waist under his palms, felt her hips shimmying in time to the beat. He couldn’t concentrate on ‘dancing’, there was a gorgeous sexually-mature Togruta writhing in his arms, her soul shimmering like a solar flare, he couldn’t breathe, his hearts were hammering, the room was spinning… She was laughing in delight, looking up into his eyes, and by all the stars and planets, he… he loved her, this was love, wasn’t it? If everything ended right now, at least he’d had this epiphany.

A little ignominious it happened in a crowded bar, though.

His control of the Force was slipping in his distraction, and he yanked it back under his grip before his aura could spill out and give away his thoughts. Could she read the fear and desire in his eyes from this distance? Did she care? She probably didn’t, or didn’t notice, she was just enjoying the dancing. She liked to move, he already knew, it was no surprise she liked dancing. And he liked to watch her.

To touch her, to be in physical contact with her while she was in graceful motion like this, it was… he didn’t have words for it. His arms carefully went more closely around her, and she pressed up against him, her breasts against his chest, so close he could have kissed her without bending down- His mind was short-circuiting with brainless thoughts of ‘ _girl, girl, oh my gods girl_ ‘, stuttering to a blank halt…

Suddenly it was too much, the lights and the noise and the alcohol and the confused lust, and he ducked away and bolted, sprinting through the crowd and to the back door. He slammed it open with his body weight and escaped into a grimy back alley, smokey, but cooler, darker, and much quieter. He could breathe again, and did, falling to his knees and putting his head down, gasping. His hearts were still pounding like he’d fought a rancor unarmed, his head was suddenly splitting, and… oh frak… “ _hurk_ ”

Sith _spawn_. Why did his body have to betray him like this? Why did he have to panic? Shit, she was coming to find him, but he couldn’t get away, he was too messed up to effectively disappear…

“Murlesson?” The door creaked open, releasing a burst of throbbing noise, then closing mercifully quickly with a slight bang. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, panting, miserable.

He felt her kneel beside him. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?” She put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, and she took it away again quickly.

He crawled further away from his puddle of vomit and sat up a little, huddling into himself, not daring to raise his gaze. “Why are you sorry? I screwed up.”

She was doing that feeling again, the one she insisted was ‘compassion’, not ‘pity’. “I didn’t realize it was affecting you so badly. I feel bad for dragging you out there. You said you didn’t want to, and I made you.”

“No,” he blurted out. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, folding her arms. “Anyway, I’m sorry, and I forgive you if you want to be sorry too.”

He was saved from answering by the door slamming open again violently, and three humans, a Twi’lek, and a Quarren, all male, tromping out; he recognized them from the edges of the dance crowd, they must have been watching Ashara before. They surrounded the two of them, grinning, alternating between leering at Ashara and laughing at him. Ashara rolled her eyes. “Excuse me, you’re interrupting, go away.”

“Nah, hotcakes, you should ditch this frakking loser and come with us. We can show you a good time, babyface.”

“Your boyfriend frakking sucks!” yelled another one.

“Oh my gosh-” Ashara looked up at them impatiently. “Problem: I like my boyfriend, and I don’t like you. You should get lost, like, _right now_ , or I won’t be responsible for what happens to you. I might even take you out myself.” ‘ _Boyfriend?_ ‘ squeaked the part of his brain that was still distracted by her.

There was a round of snickers, and then a rattle of blasters being drawn. “Looks pretty frakking pathetic, sitting in a puddle of his own puke. We’re not scared of a frakking alien goth poser-” One of them started to reach for Ashara, who started to wind up for a punch-

His head hurt, so much he could hardly concentrate, could hardly hear everyone else talking, but he wasn’t even angry, just _done_. All he did was clench his fist and the Force flung them back, slamming into the building behind them, but their blasters remained hovering in the air where they’d been a moment before. As the hooligans groaned and started to pick themselves up from the ground, he stood, pulling the loose blasters towards him, his own blaster in hand – the nice little one he’d acquired months ago from Lord Khreusis at the same time as his grandfather’s lightsaber. Not that he really needed it. “You _dare_!?” He snarled, baring his teeth fiercely – Ashara put a hand on his arm, pulling him back from the edge of a tantrum. “I’d just punt you over the next skyscraper, but my girlfriend doesn’t like wanton murder so I’ll give you five seconds to run.” ‘ _Girlfriend!_ ‘ squealed the juvenile part of his brain before he crushed it ruthlessly.

Two of them ran as he surrounded them with the terrifying darkness of his Force, but two of the humans and the Quarren shook their heads dazedly and stood their ground. “You frakking bitch!”

“I mean, I could just shoot you,” he said, toying with his blaster as he held them back with his mind. “But I’m curious how far you’ll fly.”

“I really shouldn’t say this, but I’m curious too,” Ashara said beside him. “I mean, oh no, don’t kill them, they deserve a second chance… Was that convincing?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said, and launched the first one, the one who’d talked the most, into orbit. “Nice.” The screaming was oddly cathartic.

Ashara looked at the survivors and grimaced. “You should probably let them go, they’ve wet themselves.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” He released them from his Force grip and turned to walk out of the alley.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Not really. His head ached, his throat burned, and he was so emotionally tangled up he had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling, let alone how to feel it. But it wasn’t the place to talk about it.

They settled on a nearby rooftop, looking up into the darkness of the sky – the city was too bright to show any stars, but the distant hum and glow of speeder traffic was a soothing white noise instead.

“So I’m going to take it you’re not okay, given how you haven’t answered my question yet,” Ashara said. She was looking at him, but he looked off into the distance, avoiding eye contact.

He heaved a sigh. “It’s getting better. I… maybe this whole thing was a mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, shifting a little closer to him, moving her hand so the edges of their fingers were touching. “I mean, I had a good time, and you did too for some of it, right?”

He stared out at the city, wondering if he dared to be vulnerable. “…I did.”

She smiled brightly. “Then it was worth it!” She grimaced to herself. “Although now I’m starting to feel bad about that one guy. I didn’t try very hard to stop you. I wasn’t in control of my own emotions…”

“You couldn’t have stopped me,” he said. “He said and did too much.”

“I was just going to beat him up. I wasn’t really in danger at any point. You didn’t _have_ to turn him into a bloody smear.”

“Well, I wanted to. And I don’t think the galaxy’s much worse off for his absence.”

She sighed. “Ugh, I’m conflicted. Really didn’t think I’d have to be struggling with morality on a date.”

Now that hit him in the guilt where nothing else had. Ashara was upset, the galaxy was out of balance. “…Sorry.”

“What’s done is done,” she said. “At least you let the others go.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he grumbled. “I should have wiped them out. How are the Sith going to get the respect they deserve if we go around being _‘merciful’_ all the time?”

“You can have a different kind of respect, by having people like you,” she said.

He snorted. “No one likes the Sith, not even the Sith.”

She chuckled, and her voice dropped shyly. “Well, I like you. Actually, I like you a lot.” And her coy body language suggested that wasn’t just platonic, but flirting.

He turned to look incredulously at her. “Are you stupid? I’m going to die. Violently.” Possibly as soon as challenging Thanaton.

She shrugged. “So am I, statistically speaking – and anyway, everyone dies eventually.”

“I’m a horrible, murderous monster, you’ve seen it.”

She put her hand over his, and now he didn’t move away. “Even monsters can be loved.”

His hearts jolted, and he turned his face away in case his blush gave something away. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are _you_ so stubborn?” she countered. “I like you. Get used to it.”

His head was spinning again, and it wasn’t from alcohol this time. Hadn’t he wanted her to like him? Didn’t he, right now, desperately wish for her to like him a lot? Hadn’t he just realized that he loved her and wanted to hope that his feelings might be returned even though he believed in ‘hope’ even less than ‘love’? “Ugh, fine.”

He felt her smile.

They stopped outside his cabin; Drellik, Revel, and Khem were all elsewhere. Possibly on purpose. Probably enjoying their own shore leave. And the ship droid was nowhere in sight, thank frak.

“Thanks for a great evening,” she said, with a brilliant smile. “It was nice to get out and do something different for a bit.”

“Yes,” he said, a bit lamely.

Her gaze flickered down to his mouth for the briefest of moments. “You want to do one more date ritual?”

He swallowed hard, hearts pounding.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to-” she began.

He leaned forward, almost involuntarily, his gaze inadvertently glued to her full pink lips, and she noticed and her eyes got very large for a moment before she started to lean forward too. Excruciatingly slowly, yet terrifyingly quickly, the gap between them shrank. It was good for him that he was a few centimetres taller than her… She was so close, her eyes closing, he could feel her breath on his face, the heat from her body.

Their noses bumped gently, his lips brushed against hers, and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was very good at stealing his air.

Force, he wanted more, and his hands came up to carefully frame her face, pulling her back for a slightly longer, deeper kiss. Her hands slid up to rest on his shoulders. His fingers brushed against her lekku and she shivered, so he did it again and she inhaled and pressed closer against him. Oh, he wanted more of _that_ , and put his arms about her, hesitating only a moment before moving in for another kiss, inexperienced, clumsy, and passionate, and she responded likewise.

He scarcely knew what he was doing, vaguely aware that he’d pinned her against the door without any memory of getting there, her whole body plastered against him, her hands running through his hair and across his horns, keeping him close. Her fingers brushed against the scars on the back of his neck, caressing, accepting. She was moaning softly into his mouth, and he echoed her involuntarily. He wasn’t sure how he ended up being so dominant, but even though he was taller and spiritually overpowered, she was physically stronger; if she didn’t like what he was doing, she could knock him right over, so she must have liked what he was doing.

He had to pull away. He wanted more, even more, and yet it was enough for now. He was going to lose his mind and he needed that. “You… are… overwhelming.” His voice was hoarse, tight from lack of air.

Her eyes were shining, her cheeks blushing, chest heaving as _she_ fought for air. “Th-thanks. Y-you’re really good at this.”

“You’re so kriffing hot,” was all he could think to say.

“ _You’re_ kriffing hot,” she said, and kissed him again.

If they didn’t stop soon, he was actually going to turn into a lobotomized zombie; his brain was going to melt. He didn’t want to stop, wanted to keep going almost more than anything else he’d ever wanted in his whole life. Gods, her breath, her skin… His whole body was crying out for her.

He pulled his face away again. “We should stop.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue, but then she sighed and relented, relaxing in his arms. “You’re probably right. As usual. I kinda want to keep going, but…”

His brain might be mush, but it was good his sarcasm was ingrained deeper than his brain. “What a naughty Jedi you are.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he zoned in on it. “Shut up, I already know you don’t care.” She paused. “Er… if we’re stopping, mind letting me up?”

He blinked and stepped back, releasing her. The air was suddenly cold without her, and he could feel… his cold black _soul_ was colder without her bright warm one near-intertwined with him. The feeling of loss was so great he almost threw himself at her again, just to hold her, to not feel so suddenly alone.

He didn’t move. This was how he’d always felt and never known the difference before.

The space between them was awkward, neither of them knowing how to conclude things.

Ashara inhaled, smiled at him, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Have a good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You too,” he said dumbly, and hurried inside his cabin before something else stupid happened.

He wasn’t going to sleep, but he changed from the casual clothes to his sleeping robe anyway and hurled himself fervently into his pillow nest, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. It was… a lot to process. Things had gone… okay, although that was mostly due to Ashara being determined to be happy with whatever came up. With her attitude, he could have screwed up a lot worse and still been okay. So in some ways, the experiment was successful.

And it was at least partially successful in other ways, too. The only reason she’d balked at his charming persona was because she knew his normal self already – and liked his normal self better, for whatever preposterous reason. If he needed to get information out of a stranger under these circumstances, he could probably do it successfully.

But other things had happened, things he hadn’t expected. These feelings he felt for her… it couldn’t be love. He didn’t believe in love. Love didn’t exist, not the way people wanted to believe it did. Rehanna Rist and Nomar Organa had shown him that much. He wasn’t even worried that Ashara would do something like Nomar Organa and change her mind about him. Even though on second thought, she might… Actually, she probably would, and he wouldn’t be surprised when she did. So it still wasn’t worth worrying about. But anyway, it just… people didn’t maintain undying loyalty and devotion to each other unconditionally. There was always something that could bend or break their bond. Surely all he felt for Ashara was the affection of something approaching friendship, mixed with a heaping dose of lust. To be sure, she did have fantastic breasts, so it wasn’t like he was completely unjustified…

And yet why did adrenaline jolt through him at the thought of her smile? Why did his soul feel lighter at the touch of hers? Why did he want to please her and make her happy, even against his judgement? To wish her to stay by his side – even to flip the scales, to choose to stay by _her_ side, as long as she’d have him?

He had no answers, and it bothered him.

He didn’t sleep.

She was giggly around him in the days afterward, as they traveled the rest of the way to Dromund Kaas, and a little bit clingy, spending even more time in his cabin than normal, coming into physical contact with him more than normal, and… he didn’t stop her. He welcomed it. Even if she was a bit distracting when he had to focus on preparing for his big showdown, it was… nice, to have her around, draping herself over the back of his chair, hugging his arm randomly, stroking his hair. They didn’t go as far as they had on the night of the date, but sometimes she would come plop herself in his lap and kiss him, and he had no choice but to respond, breathless and – for him – completely starry-eyed.

Revel was obviously holding himself back from teasing them relentlessly, but he couldn’t hold back _all_ the snark. Drellik was cheerfully supportive, and quite discrete. “A real gentleman,” Ashara said, one time. Zash was smugly amused, and Khem hated the whole thing.

“Are we dating, like, for real?” she said the day after, flopped on his bed while he worked.

“Are Jedi allowed?” he asked, turning his chair to to raise an eyebrow at her. Seemed like that was the more important question to start with.

“Um, well…” She squirmed. “I feel like no? I’ve been meditating on it, but I haven’t come up with an answer yet. But… well, it’s complicated. Supposedly, we’re not allowed, but Jedi actually do fall in love all the time.” She lowered her voice, like she was about to tell him some big secret no one was supposed to know. “I heard even Satele Shan had a kid, which means she must have been in love.”

He gave her a flat look. “I don’t care if Satele Shan had a kid. The rules of your order must not be very good if no one can follow them.”

“Better than the rules of the Sith, where no one is _supposed_ to follow them,” she said, sticking out her tongue at him.

“False, that means the Sith are better. Do you want to do this logically, or not?”

She looked intrigued. “What do you suggest?”

“What’s the Jedi Code again?”

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” she said. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”

He thought about that a bit. “There’s not a lot to go on for relationships there. Relationships are emotion. Romantic relationships are passion. The only way I could see to interpret it is if it would cause some _worse_ form of emotion or passion to not be in a relationship.”

She perked up. “Oh! That makes sense.” Then she faded again. “But it sounds like the ‘lesser of two evils’ argument, which isn’t really what I want to be thinking about when I’m with you. I just want to be with you.”

He shrugged. “Well, I tried to fix it for you. I don’t actually care. _I’m_ allowed to date _you_. And I’m sensing you want to date _me_. The insanity of that statement aside, I’d be slightly put out if you decided you didn’t want to do what we both want to happen.”

She laughed at him. “Then I’m your girlfriend, if you want me.”

“You doubt yourself?” he asked incredulously.

She looked away, pouting in perplexity. “Well, you’re some kinda hyper-intelligent… clever… history buff, and I’m… well, I feel kinda dumb in comparison.”

“You are not,” he said emphatically. “You’re strong and funny and beautiful. I’m… fascinated by you. You’re predictable, as a Jedi… and completely unpredictable, as Ashara.”

“Gosh,” she said, expression melting into a grin, “it’s like you like me or something.”

He gave her a sarcastic look. “I’d kiss you, but then I’d have to get up.”

She laughed out loud, which made him grin a little in response, and hopped up, taking two long steps to him and seating herself squarely in his lap. He froze, suddenly very aware of his breath and pulse, one arm going slowly around her waist, the other rising to touch her face.

She took his hand before it touched her face, frowning at his palm. “What happened here?”

It was his right palm, covered in faded circular burn marks. “I do most of my blaster blocking with that hand.” Not all; he had several on the other palm as well.

“You’re normally supposed to use a lightsaber. I thought I felt scars yesterday.”

“But it causes much greater fear and awe to block lasers with my bare – gloved – hands,” he said, taking his hand from hers and resting it on her cheek where he’d been aiming all along. “Besides, it’s fine, because kolto.” She still looked sad, and he could sense incoming protests. “Don’t tell me to stop. I’m not going to.”

“It’s not good for you,” she said in a whisper. “You already carry so many scars. When will you let yourself heal?”

He snorted a little bitterly, but changed his sarcastic answer at the last moment. “…Later.”

She sighed, managed to smile, and leaned in, lacing her fingers through his hair.

He was still blown away by her lips, how soft they were, how unfamiliar and addicting feelings washed over him and through him. His arm tightened unconsciously around her waist; he was helpless under her touch, yearning, hungry for something that he still wasn’t sure what it was, still half in denial that he was able to feel this way.

Was there something in life beyond plotting for power? Was there something in life more than revenge and darkness and pain? Was it possible that someday… he could… live?


	19. Conflagration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Act 2. (announcer voice): __RELEASE THE DRAMA-LLAMAS__
> 
> Thanaton fight soundtrack is [Corpse Party: Fear 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3r5Ep1YHbs) whoohoo
> 
> In retrospect, I haven’t done as well by Thanaton as I had wished to (narratively speaking; in actual fact I hate his guts, the arrogant snot). He was really not a very scary villain in the game, just kind of being annoying and antagonist-y without being very effective, and I had wanted to change that. I’ve made some effort to make him more active (Leppo, the useless Hoth assassins) but it’s really not enough, isn’t it? I’ll try again once I get to the final showdown, but Act 2 could probably use a rewrite to make it even more mastermind vs. mastermind, rather than mastermind doing his own thing vs. some distant vague threatening… guy.
> 
> I do have at least one idea to improve him, but it would involve taking Hoth apart and then putting it back together again and I think I’d rather see the story through to the end first before going back, since I might get other ideas!

Part 19: Conflagration

Dromund Kaas was just as he remembered it. The humidity, the thunderstorms, the sinister thrumming of the Dark Side. It was… not bad to be back, surprisingly. It wasn’t home to him the way Nar Shaddaa had become, but it was familiar, and familiar was comforting. The only thing that really bothered him was his companions. He ordered them to stay behind, and when he arrived at the gate to the Sith Sanctum, they were getting out of the taxi speeder behind his.

“You are the worst minions,” he growled at them under his breath, trying not to attract attention.

Ashara gave him a big, if nervous, smile from under her black apprentice hood. “Thanks!” Khem loomed behind her, swathed in shapeless black drapery to hide his unusual species.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he growled. “There’s nothing you can do. If I win, you won’t have to do anything. If I lose, I die, and you’ll have a much better chance of surviving by leaving in the Viper immediately.” The Viper was docked under a fake registration, so if Revel were clever – which he was, about ships – they could have been away completely unnoticed before Thanaton had time to order a search. “I left orders for that contingency.”

< _Little Sith is arrogant_ ,> Khem grunted.

“We’re here now, kid,” Revel said. “We want to be.”

“You can never be too prepared!” Drellik said. The two human men needed no disguises. Mercenaries and low-rank officers were a common enough sight around the Sith Sanctum. At least on the lower floors. Up where he was going, less so.

“This isn’t preparation,” he hissed. “This is foolishness. At least wait outside Thanaton’s chambers. I don’t need you slowing me down and alerting anyone.”

Ashara stared up at the massive edifice of the Sith Sanctum. “Sure is big enough. Bigger than the Senate Chambers on Coruscant.”

“Shh,” he said. “Come on, then.” Her touristic curiosity was only to be expected, even if he couldn’t let her indulge in it. He wondered if she were the first Jedi to set foot on Dromund Kaas. If Aristheron had brought Janelle here at any point, if other Jedi had ever come here under any pretext in history – besides as prisoners or slaves, which he’d fully believe had happened.

They really shouldn’t have come. They couldn’t help against Thanaton, and he had no intention of engaging the guards, so there really was absolutely nothing for them to do besides wait in the closest available common area, which was probably not so close, given how Thanaton’s private sanctum was even higher and further back than the rest of his chambers. None of them had been there before except for Khem and Zash. This wasn’t helpful at all. This was distracting.

He left them in the common area he’d picked out, blessedly free of other occupants for the moment, changed his boots from the rain-soaked outdoors ones to the stealth-soled ones he’d ordered for this occasion, told his companions vehemently to stay put, and sneaked down the corridor before they could get any funny ideas. Ashara looked like she wanted to say something, but he didn’t wait for her. She had already told him to be careful back on the ship. He pulled the Force around him like a shroud, and once out of sight of anyone, living, droid, or camera, he found a service corridor and crept into the ventilation system.

Now he could focus. He could sense so many lives around him, so many Sith, weak and strong. And somewhere, up ahead and above, was the one that had already technically killed him once. The only one that mattered right now. Hatred stirred within him and he forced it back down under control. Thanaton couldn’t be allowed to sense him coming.

He was halted several times by security within the ventilation ducts – this _was_ the Sith Sanctum, they weren’t stupid – but he glided over pressure sensors and confused visual sensors with the Force. He was strong enough to do it effortlessly now, perfectly, even, as long as he knew the sensors were there. He didn’t _think_ he’d been detected.

It took longer than using the corridors and elevators, but as far as he sensed, no one had seen or heard him by the time he dropped lightly from a vent two stories up the wall into the antechamber of Thanaton’s private meditation chamber. The meditation chamber itself had ventilation ports no larger than the diametre of his skinny arm, so while he could just cut through the wall, that would be the opposite of stealthy.

Besides, he had the key, stolen by his late too-ambitious apprentices. Not that the door was locked. Thanaton probably couldn’t lock it anymore. He’d brought it anyway, just in case. As such, he’d briefly considered locking the room and gassing Thanaton, but… that wouldn’t work. Thanaton would find or make a way out, or just hold his breath for ages the way masters of the Force on both sides were said to be able to do.

He pushed the door open and let it slide silently shut behind him as he entered, crouching. There had been no guards for the inner door, though he’d sensed them for the outer door that he’d bypassed. Should he be suspicious? Or was it always like this?

The room was large enough to land the Viper in, domed with a transparisteel ceiling on which the rain poured silently, the sound unable to penetrate its thickness. Ten-metre tall statues were arranged around the perimeter of the room symmetrically, and in between them shelves of artefacts. He could see doors on the outside of the room and wondered if they led to other rooms full of artefacts, or perhaps libraries of holocrons, or what. Maybe a refresher, if Thanaton were as practical as he was.

“You think I can’t sense you?” Thanaton said from the centre of the room, sounding like a disapproving father. He was meditating, it seemed, facing away from him. Well, that was what he said the room was for. “You hide yourself very well but the ripples of your presence still… _intrude_.”

Murlesson stopped crouching and walked up to the edge of the central platform of the room. “I never thought you’d be surprised by my return. But it was worth a shot.”

Thanaton stood and turned to face him. “After Lord Cineratus’s death, I knew you’d be here eventually. A lesser Sith would run and hide under a sand dune. But it’s obvious you’re not a lesser Sith.”

He could feel his hatred welling up, his teeth beginning to chatter as his breath seethed. “I will kill you.”

Thanaton snorted. “I’ve faced many challenges over the years. My death is no more certain now than it was then. You are young and proud. No doubt all you see is a withered old man waiting to be crushed and succeeded. This time I will be sure to dispose of your corpse personally.”

“You won’t dispose of anything,” he rasped hoarsely. “I will never – _never_ be a slave again! Not to you… or your Empire, your rules, your threats!”

“Slaves and Sith all die the same,” Thanaton said. “The Empire endures eternally.”

“I swear,” Murlesson roared hysterically. “ _I swear I will burn everything you have ever built to the ground!_ ”

Thanaton had a slightly disbelieving smile on his face as he watched this rapid descent into raving madness. He drew his lightsaber-

-and Murlesson ripped it from his hands, forcing him backwards with a hand trembling with rage. For the first time, he unleashed the power he’d accumulated, felt it boiling up with his long-restrained hatred, so much, so much – too much-!

And for the first time, Thanaton looked alarmed. “What are you doing!? You must stop this nonsense now!” He wasn’t going to stop, not now, he was so close! 

And then the whispers started. Different whispers, different people, all overlapping, blending into one hissing cacophony in his head. _Don’t let him talk to you like that! He’s a treacherous snake. Cut out his fangs! Careful now. Don’t lose control. I warned you ghosts were dangerous. I warned you we were not for the weak. But you did it anyway!_

He gasped for air, but whether or not he had control, the power would not be stopped. The Dark Side erupted from him, arching his back, drawing out a scream from his throat, every tendon in his body tense as a wire, every muscle straining to its limit. His hearts were pounding like they would burst, his head felt like it was going to explode. He was floating in the air, his senses somehow numbed and yet hypersensitive, a dark wind howling around the room in a tornado. Holocrons and artefacts went tumbling from the shelves, some of them smashing on the floor with sharp tinkling impacts. Lightning began to crackle down his arms, wreathing his own body. He found his eyes watering, leaking tears as he gaped at the sky through the window above.

Dimly he heard Thanaton’s shout. “What have you done? You fool! You can’t handle that kind of power! No one can!”

No, he couldn’t. But that was the point. He’d sacrifice anything – _everything_ – to destroy Thanaton. Agony was coursing through him, unbearable torture, worse than anything he’d ever suffered at the hands of any Sith, and yet it would be worth it to obliterate Thanaton from the galaxy-! The chamber was being ripped to shreds; transparisteel from the dome was raining around him and getting picked up by the screaming wind, the statues were being knocked over, as far as he could tell the entire chamber was shaking with the violence of his strength.

Except it wasn’t _his_ strength. He couldn’t direct it to make the final blow. He was being torn apart, body and soul, pulled in four directions at once. He howled, feeling lightning discharge from him, again and again; a violent pulse of energy blasted anything left in the chamber. He could no longer hear, see, or feel…

With one final burst, it was over, and the power left him. He fell to the ground, landing on his feet but tripping immediately over the crater that had formed beneath him in his storm and falling heavily to the ground. He was spent, utterly, too weak to lift a finger. It was raining on his face and he couldn’t stop it.

All he could manage was a whisper. “What just happened? Where’s Thanaton?” He couldn’t sense him anymore.

Who was he talking to? The voices in his head?

But they answered. And now he began to recognize their voices.

Darth Andru, whom he’d bound to complete Thanaton’s trial: _You’re dying, little snake. Don’t struggle. It’ll only prolong the agony._

Lord Ergast, the one he had bound first to test his abilities: _One thing they never tell you about Force-binding: you should never, ever, bind more than one ghost at a time. Or else, well, you’ll see_.

He snarled, weak as a sick manka kitten. “Shut up! I need to think…”

Horak-Mul, from Hoth: _He wants to think! He should have thought before he grasped for power beyond his abilities!_

He hadn’t known the name of the last one, Ashara’s ancestor, but the name floated into his consciousness now: Kalatosh: _We had no choice but to serve you before. But now, we can finally have some… fun._

“No,” he moaned, as these suddenly-clear presences pressed in on his mind, falling into black despair… and physical darkness.

Ashara looked up. “Gosh. Do you feel that?”

“No… yes,” Talos said, touching the wall with alarm. It was vibrating. She hadn’t even meant that, had reflexively reacted to the sensations reaching her in the Force, but… yeah, that too! “Is that… Is that the fight? Is it causing that?”

She knew her eyes were wide with fear. _Fear is of the Dark Side… but if I centre myself in the Light, they’ll sense me…_ “Yes, they’re fighting. I can feel them from here. He’s… He doesn’t have control.” But power, so much power, like a great black star, burning through the Force like a furious beacon.

“Weird, usually he’s good on control,” Andronikos said. “Meeting his arch-nemesis must have really shaken those screws looser.”

< _He should not have left us behind! Little foolish Sith_ ,> Khem growled. She was getting better at understanding his speech, although the easiest words to understand were still ‘fool’ and ‘Sith’, because he used those so often. Also things like ‘devour’ and ‘kill’. She almost liked talking to Zash better, except something about Zash made her even more uneasy, despite her friendliness and passion for history and Basic conversational skills.  


“You’re right,” she said. “We need to go to him, now.”

“Through Thanaton’s security?” Andronikos grumbled. “Ah, well, they’ll be freaking out at the same time anyway. Maybe we can take advantage of the confusion.”

“Exactly! Let’s go, quickly.” The metaphysical storm was rising in a crescendo of something that sounded very much like inaudible screaming. He was in torment, and she needed to get there, needed to stop it, immediately.

The corridors were full of people running; they blended right in and no one stopped them to ask who they were. The storm ended with one final piercing shriek. Were they too late? She led the way, since she could sense where he was, up stairs and down halls, until they came to a door that had been blown open by some catastrophic force. All was quiet, and she could barely sense _him_ now, just a huge brooding black mess that didn’t feel… right.

Andronikos swore in Rodian – at least, she thought it was Rodian, none of her friends ever used _those_ words – as she squeezed her way past the wreckage and into the no-longer-domed chamber. “What a mess. This is what Sith do when they’re mad?”

She was picking her way over shattered transparisteel and fallen statues towards the still body in the middle of the room. “Yup. But I think there’s something more than that.” There was only one body, and the red hair gave it away as his; where was Thanaton’s? She couldn’t sense him. Was he dead, or did he get away?

“Too… many ghosts?” Talos offered as they followed her. “He was stronger than Thanaton, but it was too much for someone of his relative youth and inexperience to handle?”

“He always seemed so in control,” she said mournfully, kneeling beside him. He was breathing… barely, but something still didn’t feel right about him. What had that explosion shattered in his soul? He was lying in a crater impacted into the durasteel flooring, getting soaked from the rain coming in through the broken window overhead, his robes slashed all to bits – but not burned, so Thanaton hadn’t attacked him with his lightsaber. There were burn marks dotted across the walls, most of them still smoking; lightning strikes?

“Heads up, we got company,” Andronikos said grimly, drawing his blaster.

She spun, diving back in front of the two blaster-wielding humans as Khem lumbered forward with his broadsword. Soldiers, led by a short, cybernetically-enhanced human Sith, rushed into the wrecked room, already shooting. “You there! Trespassers! Assassins!”

“I’ll jam their communications!” Talos said. Good thinking, she wouldn’t have remembered that.

She really wanted to fight this Sith! She was the best duelist in her class, and she’d only been getting better traveling with Murlesson! But she was the only one with blaster bolt-deflecting powers, and there was no cover for anyone else besides tiny pieces of statue, so she was going to have to settle into Soresu and do it quickly and well. “Khem, I can’t…”

< _I will devour this little fool_ ,> Khem announced, engaging the Sith in combat with a roar. Well, that was a weight off her mind, and now she could focus on being the shield for her friends while they took out the others. Maybe she could even bounce a few bolts back towards their enemies, but there were so many she had her hands full just protecting!

She didn’t have Murlesson’s head for planning and coming up with clever things in the middle of combat. If only he were awake… But she couldn’t just rely on him for everything! For once, he needed her, really needed her, and she would take care of him with all she had. He respected her strengths, so she would respect herself too.

The Sith’s face turned shocked, then enraged. “You- Jedi! So he truly was a traitor, far worse than even Darth Thanaton believed!”

She didn’t have the concentration to retort. She knew she was far-too-clearly showing her true colours, but she didn’t have the capacity to fight at her full strength _and_ hide her aura, given she barely had an idea how to hide her aura to begin with! Something that bugged Murlesson; he was always giving her a hard time about it. But she was bad at hiding things, bad at hiding herself.

All that was secondary right now. There were too many blaster bolts aiming at her, and she was having trouble getting all of them. She only had two arms, two lightsabers! She had to flip out of the way of some, and that meant Andronikos and Talos had to duck behind a fallen statue – that wasn’t cover, unless you were practically lying down! But they were at least giving enough covering fire that the attacking soldiers were forced to take their own cover in the ruined doorway.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony_. She was relaxing into the Force, feeling it flow through her, becoming its instrument of protection. It was the same feeling as when she’d protected Murlesson’s cult, as when she’d protected Murlesson on that Zeltronian space station, as when she’d protected Talos on Hoth.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, felt Darkness approaching, and the Sith who had been fighting Khem, small and quick and wielding a double-bladed saber, came darting around Khem and towards her. She could not fight him and deflect lasers at the same time! There wasn’t a good cross between Soresu and Djem So! And Ataru, her best form, was straight out in this situation! “There is no chaos, there is harmony,” she breathed, quelling the panic inside, catching her attacker’s saber on both of hers. Thank the Force Murlesson fought with a double-bladed lightsaber, so she had some experience, even if this guy was better technically.

He was _so_ much better than Murlesson, technically speaking, she started wondering if he was better than her. No way! She wasn’t going to let him down now!

“What business does a Jedi have with a Sith?” hissed her opponent. Khem charged back into the fray, and he _still_ wasn’t slowing down, taking them both on at once. “You will never leave to take back word to your filthy Republic.”

“None of _your_ business!” she retorted, trying to shift over to Ataru anyway and praying that she wouldn’t get shot in the meantime. Hoping Andronikos and Talos could shield _her_ now, knowing it wasn’t nearly as effective as a lightsaber. 

“Your feelings for him are strong. So close to falling…”

“Nope!” Falling for Murlesson, yeah sure. Falling to the Dark Side, he could forget it! Finally, she managed to lunge forwards, put him on the back foot for a half second.

“You lie to yourself at your own peril,” hissed the Sith, Force-pushing Khem away and locking blades with her, driving her back a step with sheer intensity.

“You’re not my teacher, you can’t lecture me!” Ashara said, resisting the pressure with her feet braced on the warped floor. _Okay, great, now stop rising to his bait. Anything he could possibly say, you already know. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_. The Force filled her, bright, tinged with gold and blue, and she broke the saber lock, pushing forward with renewed determination. This was dangerous, so dangerous for so many reasons, and she didn’t think of any of them as she twirled her sabers, swinging one after the other. His reflexes were better than a normal human’s, with his cybernetic implants and all, but the Force was with her just as much as it was with him.

Khem had recovered, and was attacking this guy in the back again; the Sith sidestepped to keep them both in view. She was picking up speed now, determined to overwhelm even his cybernetic reflexes; left saber, right saber, right saber again; he was barely keeping up with both of them now, Darkness growing in him with an angry growl-

She lunged again with her off-saber, an unconventional move that Master Ocera had been fond of when he was teaching her advanced techniques – she connected, driving her saber through his chest, no further than full extension. No time to see how badly he was hurt, she withdrew and immediately attacked again – there wasn’t any predicting what a partially injured Sith could do with his last strength and she didn’t want to lose a hand from being careless.

But she didn’t have to, because Khem swung and took off his head.

< _You both talk too much_ ,> Khem growled, immediately turning away and charging at the soldiers. He took some bolts as they shifted their aim to him… ouch, that was going to take some heavy kolto to fix up. 

She was right behind him, ready to take out whoever was left so they could escape unmolested. _Oh my gosh, I just killed an actual Sith. I don’t suck at real combat! With help, of course_.

It was only a minute; two of the soldiers tried to run, and Khem ran faster. She winced at the bone-snapping noises and sheathed her lightsabers, hurrying back into the big chamber. “Quick, let’s get him out of here before more come,” she cried. Even if Talos had managed to jam their communications, one of them might have run for help while they weren’t looking. “There isn’t anything we could use as a stretcher, is there?”

“Can’t you carry him with your mind?” Andronikos said, wiggling his fingers at her in a parody of Force mnemonics.

She made an unhappy face. “I am the _worst_ at telekinesis. I can’t even move little rocks, let alone big ones. I mean, I can… I can try.” There was no _try_ , but she would fail to _do_ , based on past performances… Negativity was the prelude to failure, of self-fulfilling prophecies, but she really couldn’t promise anything! She reached out her hand, straining, trying so hard to manipulate the Force to _move_ instead of _feel_ , to wrap around him and move him into the air, and he barely twitched.

But he did twitch. Was she getting better?

“Huh, guess you’re right,” Andronikos said. “He makes it look so easy, sometimes it’s easy to forget not all you mystical warrior weirdos are the same. Well, c’mon, Drellik, we’ll take care of it.”

“Right, yes. Shall I get his legs?”

His sense in the Force was still smouldering, and that she didn’t know how to deal with either. They couldn’t leave with him feeling like this, every Sith they passed would notice as they left.

< _Are you done waiting for reinforcements to arrive_?> Khem growled, finishing his examination of his wounds. He didn’t seem to be in noticable pain, but he must have been. < _These are Thanaton’s chambers, but that won’t stop the Dark Council from investigating a disturbance this great. Especially when he goes to whine to them_.> She didn’t catch all of that, but enough that she understood Khem didn’t want to fight the Dark Council. She could get on board with that.

“He has a point,” Andronikos said, grunting as he hauled under Murlesson’s armpits. Her friend’s red head lolled limp on his chest. If only she had _some_ skill in manipulating the metaphysical… Sometimes, she was pretty sure, when Murlesson didn’t want to be noticed by other Force users, he made his aura really small and diffuse – how he could do that with _so much power_ crammed up inside him, she didn’t know – but also he did it for the people around him, like her, somehow, maybe not even consciously.

“Just a moment,” she said, and touched his face, using her physical touch as a mnemonic to try and blanket her suggestion over his bleeding black mess of an aura. And to her surprise, it worked. The Force quieted around him, still dark, still intense and wrong, but no longer a giant oozing spot. It wouldn’t be permanent, but it would let them get out of there, while she was touching him.

Maybe she just needed to try touching things to direct the Force to help her. She closed her eyes and asked it to lift the unconscious man she touched, and slowly, he began to float upwards, taking some of the weight from both Andronikos and Talos.

She buried the twinge of frustration – why hadn’t Master Ryen suggested trying that before? Had it been so important that she do things exactly like the other Padawans right from the start? – and nodded to the others. “Seems I can help more after all.”

“Wonderful!” Talos said. “That’s a big help.”

“Now let’s go before we get swarmed by every Sith in the building,” Andronikos said.

They walked out, and though the corridors were full of alarmed-looking guards and grim-looking Sith, no one stopped or questioned them before they made it to the taxi speeder stand. The Force was with them in a big way, after the way things had gone just a short while ago.

Geez, Murlesson didn’t belong on either side, how long was it going to take people to notice? It was kind of sad. Too Dark for the Republic in general, and hanging out with her was clearly making him suspect in the Empire among basically anyone besides Aristheron. Who was a cool guy, she hoped he did well. But maybe things would be easier for Murlesson if she wasn’t there…

But she’d helped, hadn’t she? He wouldn’t have made it out if she hadn’t been there, and that wasn’t ego talking. So she should stay out of the way when political stuff was happening so no one noticed the Sith Lord had a Jedi girlfriend and started jumping to silly conclusions that could get him hurt. She wasn’t leaving his side for anything else than that.

Awareness filtered back in fits and starts. The first thing he became aware of was agony. His whole body was on fire with an ache that would have made him gasp and moan if he had the energy to move.

The next thing was the whispering, like some people were having a distant discussion about him and were enjoying it way too much.

Other things came in: his heartbeats, thudding away far too loudly in his ears; his breath, shallow and raspy; the softness under his hands and body that told him he was in his bed; the presences nearby, of his whole crew, in his room, watching him. _They’re watching you, boy, isn’t that nice? What loyal pets you made._

He groaned painfully, using all his effort, it felt like, to crack open his eyes. Which brought a new level of migraine and he shut them again with another grunt. The whispering got louder. _Can’t handle the light, hahaha. Pathetic. He needs to stay away from my granddaughter. Or turn her properly, wouldn’t that be better, Kalatosh? Mmmm, yes._

Revel was stooping over him, he could sense. “Kid! Back in the land of the living. Easy now.”

“Everything’s all right,” Ashara said soothingly, and he felt her hand on his. “We’re on the Viper, and we’re in hyperspace, heading for Alderaan. I’ll explain later. Just rest, okay? We’ll take care of everything.”

“You overextended yourself,” Zash’s voice warbled from further away. “The ghosts’ power was too much for your body to adapt to so quickly. And that’s not to mention the little chats you’ve been having in your sleep. Let me guess, the ghosts?”

He whispered desperately. “They won’t be quiet. They were quiet before. Why won’t they be quiet!?” _Hahaha, how he begs_.

“Whatever the cause, you look dire,” Drellik said sympathetically. “And Thanaton will take advantage unless we find a cure quickly.”

“Give me some time to do more research,” Zash said. “Ashara has been helping me. Holocrons are impossible these days.”

He made some incomprehensible muttering noise and faded away again in murky pain.


	20. Convalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare OST is [Corpse Party: Puzzled](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXDqRMT9Fts), and depression music is [Corpse Party: Chapter 2 Main BGM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8vHE432W1A)

Part 20: Convalescence

He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move. Dread filled him, a mindless, all-encompassing terror that would have paralyzed him if half of it didn’t come from being paralyzed to begin with. He wasn’t bound or tied down, he simply could not command his body to move.

 _They_ were walking around his bed, whispering, laughing softly, pointing at him like he was some kind of specimen on a lab table; he could sense it even though it was pitch black. They were somehow a crowd, the four of them, shuffling, whispering, shuffling, whispering. He struggled, uselessly, and found pain lancing through him though he was still immobile. He was pierced with a million tiny blades, every nerve in every inch of his body sliced open and raw. It was hard to breathe. “Go away… leave me alone…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, and it hurt to slowly form the words.

“Oh, but we couldn’t, even if we wanted to.”

“Which we don’t.”

“Little snake regrets all his choices, doesn’t he? Wishes he left well enough alone, doesn’t he?”

“Even Naga Sadow knew better than to mess with ghosts, boy. You thought you were better than him?”

He still didn’t know enough about ghosts. Had only half-researched them, stopped after finding what he’d thought was the solution to his problem. He really was a fool…

If there was one person in the galaxy… who had been in the galaxy… who could help him… “G-grandf-father… P-please…”

A burst of laughter. “Listen to him whine.”

“Delicious.”

“Your ancestor’s gone, boy. He hasn’t the strength to help you now.” Someone leaned down next to his ear. “No one does.” The words echoed inside his skull, over and over and over and over and over and over…

He was going to somehow hyperventilate without breathing. There was a scream building inside him, a scream of frustration and fear. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t-!

He burst out of the nightmare with a cry, and immediately Ashara was beside him. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“’m not,” he mumbled deliriously. “ _They’re_ in here with me. Can’t escape.” _No, there’s no escape from us. We’re allllways with you. Little snake can’t crawl fast enough, there’s nowhere to hide anymore_.

“We’re working on it,” she said soothingly. “I’m right here with you. You’re not alone.” Her slender fingers brushed his forehead, smoothing down his hair around his horns, and slowly, he quieted under her touch. He wasn’t cogent enough to analyze it, but her presence was soothing, quieting his frantic soul, even if he was too weak to reach for her, with his mind or with his hand. He felt her lips brush his face and faded back into fitful sleep. _They_ still whispered and shuffled around his bed… but _she_ was there now, beside him, guarding him, even though she couldn’t see them.

She couldn’t be with him always, or at least she wasn’t with him always. It was excruciating, his existence now. As he had quickly found out, he wasn’t free even unconscious. _They_ were playing with his mind, and every time he thought they might run out of material, they’d jostle loose something new in his subconscious, finding more to mock him for or generate nightmares from. They were relentless, driving him to the edge of sanity, to rabid, desperate lunacy. Even if they paused for a few moments, just when he thought he’d have enough relief to rest for a bit, they’d start again and it was a hundred times more infuriating than if they’d just kept going. Which they were definitely doing on purpose.

How was everything he did so hilarious? He wondered, in a brief moment of sarcastic lucidity. They must have been really starved for excitement while they were dead for centuries. Either that or he was looking at a new job as a comedian for dead Sith – lie there, moan, sick with pain and fear, and let the laughs roll in.

They definitely weren’t completely sane themselves. Something they had in common, though he was pretty sure they were all further gone than him.

He was too weak to struggle, physically, audibly, or mentally, but whenever he was awake enough to pay attention, he noticed Ashara winced every time she came near him, so he must have been causing a strong disturbance in the Force. He found it difficult to be aware of his own sense – of anything in the Force, actually. Most of the time he lay in bed, eyes unfocused, twitching fitfully at _their_ verbal poking or when the physical pain twinged too hard. He didn’t know what was going on in the rest of the ship. His crew could do whatever they wanted as far as he was concerned. Ashara stayed with him a lot, and the rest of them visited far too often, and he couldn’t stop them.

He couldn’t stop anything, not his crew, not the ghosts, not the nightmares that rampaged through his mind. He was weak and useless and he hated it. Hated _them_. Hated _himself_.

But as his own strength slowly returned, he began to regain some form of control, some form of awareness. One of the first things he noticed at that point was that his crew had wrapped him from neck to toe in kolto bandages at some point, under his robes. There wasn’t a kolto tank on the Viper, so was that their substitute? It didn’t seem to be helping at all. Or maybe it was, in which case he dreaded what it would feel like to remove them.

Ashara poked her head into his cabin after a day or two, once he was talking in complete sentences again. “You wanna watch a holodrama? I know you like ’em.” _Ah, the rotting of his brain with fictional stories continues. No, no, pick something with death and destruction! Even fake, it’s better than nothing!  
_

He shifted his head listlessly to look at her. “You had something in mind?” He almost said no, but… he was too tired to care. And if he was too tired to do anything useful, he might as well indulge her. Even going to the refresher, although he was finally in a state to hobble across the room by himself, was utterly exhausting.

“Well, it’s up to you, but I was thinking you probably haven’t seen anything by Metamorph… since they’re Republic.”

“I have not.” _I hope their dramas are all about tragedy and betrayal, but knowing her, unlikely._

“Well, my _favourite_ one is about a human girl who is going through some life experience, but she’s repressing her emotions, and it’s from like her internal monologue’s point of view as a separate character…?”

“I can see why you’d relate to that,” he said drily, “but that doesn’t sound very interesting to me.” Or he just didn’t want to talk about _feelings_ right now. _Because you feel too much already, don’t you, little snake? Any more will send you over the edge, won’t it?_

“Okay, well then there’s my other favourite one, about a Nautolan girl who goes on an adventure through space to return an artifact to the planet it was stolen from with them help of the buff Mirialan who stole it in the first place. Also they’re both Force-sensitive, even if the writers got some facts wrong about how the Force works.” _The ignorant will never know the true power of the Force until it chokes the life from them-_

“Fine, do that one.”

And she tapped his computer console until it had downloaded the transmission from the holonet, then marched over to his bed and indicated that he should scoot over a bit to let her sit beside him. “I would’ve brought snacks, but we’re kind of out.”

“A travesty,” he said. “Send 2V to get some on our next stop.”

“Yeah, gotta have snacks for holodramas!”

He couldn’t stop himself from talking as soon as it started. “Why is it all artificial? I usually watch live-action holodramas.” _He sounds so superior. He’s not wrong, artificial holos are for children. He’s only trying futilely to make the Jedi happy._

“The quality of the story doesn’t depend on being live-action,” she said patiently. “Just wait. It’s good, I promise.” _Of course she would say that. She’s a child herself, even more than the boy._

“…Why are they all _singing_? What sort of surreal reality is this?” _Foolish drivel, even my treacherous offspring had better taste_.

“Great stars, Murlesson, just _shut up_ for two seconds and watch the show.”

“Tell the voices in my head to shut up,” he snarked, settling back among the pillows. _The same old refrain, how sweet it is_ …

She tapped on his head lightly. “Hey in there, shut up and let him watch the show.” _She dares? She can’t stop us. This puerile tripe_ …

“Are you five!?” he exclaimed, and suddenly, they quieted for at least twenty seconds. He’d managed to surprise them. Ashara gave him a look that was both pained and amused, and he managed to settle in beside her to watch with his head on her shoulder.

Despite distractions, against his better judgement, and without his even really noticing, the story drew him in – how the unlikely pair evaded savage Ewok pirates, how they escaped an exogorth who liked to sing even more than the song-happy main characters, how they challenged some unidentifiable lava monster on the dead planet that was their destination… and then they failed and the quest fell apart. The Mirialan gave up and left, the Nautolan girl gave up and left, throwing the artefact into space – and then the spirit of her dead grandmother came to her…

Ashara looked over at him. “A-are you… crying?”

“No,” he said, looking away so she wouldn’t see he was lying his face off. Even if it must have been painfully obvious to any Force-sensitive. “But you should turn it off anyway.” _Liar, traitor, betrayer. Weak, pathetic little boy, crying at a fake story because of some sad music and pretty lights. Even the Jedi thinks you’re weak_.

“You sure? It’s-”

“Yes.” He pulled the blanket over his head so he wouldn’t have to interact with anything anymore. _She thinks you’re weak, that you’re stupid, she’ll never respect you again_.

She turned off the viewscreen and came back to snuggle beside him, wrapping her arms around his blanket-swathed form. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would affect you so much. I always cry at that part, but I… well… You know how emotional I am. And the ending is happy, so I get through it.”

He didn’t answer, trying to control his face. Crying was humiliating. On the other hand, what did he need dignity for? He’d been denied it as a slave, and he was done for as a Sith lord. _Yes, hide, like the coward you are. I don’t know how she’s still with you after this little display_.

“Your heartbeat sounds different,” she murmured, her head on his chest. “I’ve never heard a heartbeat like yours before.”

“Two hearts,” he said thickly. “Zabrak have two hearts. You have to stab through both of them to kill me.” _Oh, do give her all the advice on killing you. She’ll act on it sooner or later. It will be delightful to see you_ both _break so_.

“Ew. I’m not going to do that.” She sighed. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see. I don’t know how, or when, but it will.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” he said. “Unfounded Jedi optimism.” _She’ll fall eventually. There’s no better cure for the Light than unrelenting defeat_.

“I am sure,” she said. “I heard once that most humans and near-humans need four hugs a day to be emotionally healthy. It’s just part of our biology, our primal instinct as various types of pack animals. So as part of making things okay, I’m going to hug you as often as possible.”

He grunted an exasperated sigh. “Your amazing plan to save my life is to hug me.” Even the voices in his head were speechless, though he caught Kalatosh mumbling something about _of all the ridiculous, inane_ …

“Mmhmm. And other things. But hugs are good for you.”

His next sigh was a depressed sigh, as he fished an arm out from under the blanket, and put it around her shoulders. “Whatever.”

She squeezed him gently and held him until he fell asleep, unshed tears still under his eyelids. Stupid artificial holodrama.

“We’re here!” Ashara announced a couple days after that, swinging into his room with unbearable hope that was just a little bit brittle around the edges.

He frowned and hid under the blanket from the hope. It was disgustingly bright and cheerful, almost physically painful on top of all the other painful things afflicting him. _Oh, look, the coward goes hiding again._ He’d already been hiding inside his mask, which seemed to help – the tiniest bit – against the voices, but _whatever, Andru_. He’d tried calling him ‘Andy’ to annoy him, but that had brought on such a retaliatory migraine that he didn’t feel up to doing it regularly… yet.

She knelt beside him and shook him gently. “Oh, come on. I haven’t even told you where ‘here’ is.”

“It’s Alderaan,” he said through the mask and the blanket. “It’s not like everyone thought about it loudly this whole time like it was the only place left in the galaxy.”

She actually laughed a little. “Okay, I guess that’s not so surprising. But you know what’s on Alderaan?”

“I really don’t care.”

“Well, I’m telling you anyway. Once upon a time, I heard of this Jedi Master who lives there, Master Cyman, who’s really open-minded and fair. People, especially young Jedi, come on pilgrimages all the time to ask him for help and advice. I think he’ll help us.” _Pfa, a Sith ask help of a Jedi? Oh, I think it’s far less likely that the Jedi will agree to help the Sith. Her dashed hopes will be so marvelous to see._

“And if he doesn’t?” He couldn’t help agreeing with their cynicism.

“Well…” she hesitated. “If he doesn’t agree to help with your condition, I was hoping he would at least give me some guidance personally. I’m still technically a Padawan, you know. I… miss having someone to ask questions of. And I have a lot more questions now than when I was on Yavin 4.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“You don’t have to get up now. I still have to find him, and ask him first. No sense in wearing you out if he says no.”

“Fine.” _Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it no matter what the Jedi says_.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.” She pressed a kiss to the mask through the blanket and hurried off, still bright and bubbly.

He sat up, as quickly as he could make himself, pulling the blanket off his head; it caught momentarily on the edge of his mask and he nearly ripped it in his impatience. “A-Ashara.” Frak, sitting up hurt more than necessary, and he winced as his back spasmed. _Careful, loverboy, you might hurt yourself over pretty words_.

“Huh? What?”

He just wanted to see her properly for a moment before she left. “Be careful.”

She smiled a beautiful smile. “I will! Rest up!” _Yes… rest… and never let down your guard. We’re here, even when she’s not_.

Ashara found herself getting more and more nervous as she approached the mountain cottage where Master Cyman Walz was said to live. This was _really_ unorthodox, but… he didn’t mind that, did he? He’d brought some other Sith lord to the Light and initiated him into the Jedi. She wasn’t even asking that much in comparison.

He _had_ to help. What Jedi wouldn’t?

She swallowed and rang the doorbell. And waited.

 _There is no emotion, there is peace_. She had to be patient. Maybe he was just… in the refresher, or something. Maybe gardening in the back, did he garden? She could imagine someone gardening in this sort of locale. The house was in a little sheltered nook on a broad mountainside, velveted with green and gold meadows running up all the way to the snowline. Behind her was an incredible view across a green valley, threaded with a silver river at the bottom, alongside which was a large town. Andronikos had used their fake Republic transponder to dock at the Republic spaceport, letting her off and taking off again in case any Jedi happened to sense her invalid friend, and then she’d taken public transport to this town, and then walked up the mountain path. There wasn’t a faster way to find him, it wasn’t like his address was listed on the holonet. It had been a long day, but she’d enjoyed her solo adventure across the countryside, despite the urgency of her mission.

And hey, she was on Alderaan! And it was just as beautiful as she’d been told. She wished Murlesson were there to share it with her. But she was doing this for him. Maybe in a bit he could come down, and then show her around when he felt better.

She was getting ahead of herself. A few minutes more, and she felt a master’s presence approaching. Strong, serene, a calming aura in the Force. He came around the side of the building, a herd of blue ringhorn goats clustered around him, an elderly human with dark skin and a grey beard. “Hello? How can I help you, young one?”

“H-hi,” she said. “I’m Ashara Zavros, and I… I really need your help. But not for me! For a friend of mine.”

He frowned, and she felt the touch of his presence probing hers. The goats shifted restlessly, bells rattling softly, and one of them bleated. “And why could this friend not come see me in person?”

“Well, he’s really weak right now. It’s a long story, and I… should probably start at the beginning, so you don’t get any misunderstandings.”

“Begin,” he said, sending his goats back around the building and turning back to her expectantly, but he seemed more remote than he had a moment ago, and it worried her.

She took a deep breath, trying to purge her nerves with the Jedi Code. “Okay, so… um…” This really was hard to say to this Master, even if he had a reputation for being open-minded. “He’s a Sith.”

He frowned. “I know. I can feel the taint of the Dark Side upon you.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Really? Oh no. But he’s never tried to turn me into a Sith…”

“Their methods are not to be underestimated, young Ashara. If you remain with him, he will never stop trying in his own insidious way.”

How was she tainted? Was it just from hanging around him? Was it all the times she’d failed to persuade him to a Lighter path and people ended up dead? Was it from reading Sith holocrons? Was it _actually_ from falling in love with him? Cheese. This was why _she_ needed help too. “Well, um, anyway… He’s been fighting for his life against Darth Thanaton, and in the process, he absorbed several Force-ghosts into his own presence, and now they’re trying to… I don’t know, annoy him to death or something. H-he’s dying and I don’t know how to heal him.”

“And why would you want to heal a Sith?” Master Cyman said slowly.

She let out a sigh, letting the further build-up of nerves release into the Force. “Because he’s… he’s not evil, even if he’s so Dark you could cut it with a vibroblade. He’s just young, and he’s been hurt so badly, by so many things that he didn’t have control over. If he had his way, he wouldn’t be fighting at all. He’d go somewhere and write history books or something, he’s a huge nerd.”

“Your feelings for him are strong,” Master Cyman said.

How was it he was saying so little and yet so much at the same time? She blushed and shuffled. “Um… yeah. He’s not like most Sith. He’s… charismatic. And kind, even if he denies it to keep up appearances. He’s… he’s a person, not a stereotype. And he’s… so lonely. So incredibly lonely.”

“Lonely… and angry at the galaxy? Full of hatred at the ones who hurt him?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“He is not so unique as you think, young one. There are so many lost orphans in the galaxy exactly like him. The difference is… he has power. And from what you describe, incredible power.” Master Cyman shook his head. “I will not help you.”

It was like the bottom dropped out of her stomach. “W-what!?”

“He will not change, Ashara. He will ever be enacting vengeance on the galaxy. He is a tragic victim, yes. But he has become a perpetrator as well; the cycle of violence continues in him. No, I will not heal him. Better that he have a quiet end than that he become another wielder of suffering and fear.”

She gasped for air for a moment, almost sobbing in her intense disappointment. “Seriously!? You’d just give up on him, without giving him a chance? You don’t even _know_ him!”

“A chance that he could live to do greater evil? The potential for evil is in us all. And in one who has only been taught by evil, by pain, by fear, who has never known good or peace, the potential is much greater. Too great.”

“He’s _suffering_ and you would just-!” Her indignation was so great she felt she was going to explode; her voice was shrill in her desperation. “I can’t believe you! _I’m_ not going to give up on him! Everyone deserves a chance-!”

“What of his victims?” Master Cyman demanded. “Do they not deserve a chance as well? Has he not touched your own life with his pain?”

Master Ryen… Master Ocera… yes, he’d taken them away. He’d murdered some people, tortured others, lied like a rug. But… “Everyone I’ve seen him attack or kill, tried to kill him first, or hurt him, or hurt someone he was trying to protect. Even my masters, who judged him a lot like you are! They tried to kill him, and he defended himself! It’s been difficult to forgive him for it, but I’m still trying, because he… he just wants to live! I don’t understand how you can just throw up your hands and walk away when he can still be saved!”

“Does he want to be saved?” Master Cyman said.

Ugh, enough with the annoying questions! “Of course he does! At least…” Well, not in the way Master Cyman was asking. “N-no, but he doesn’t deserve the pain he’s in! He doesn’t deserve everyone trying to kill him ‘just for existing’!”

“Is that what he told you?”

“From what I’ve seen, it’s true!” She deflated and sat down in the middle of the path. “Look, fine. If you’re going to be so hard-hearted, I won’t ask you to help him. But… I need help too. I never completed my training as a Jedi, and while he’s never tried to turn me Sith, he can’t exactly help me become a better Jedi. So…”

Master Cyman stared at her for a few moments. “No.”

She jumped up. “Oh, my gosh! What now!?”

“You are no Jedi. You are far too impatient. Far too emotional. You would never pass the trials.”

Her infamous temper flared to full fury; there was no way she could rein it in now. “You… are such… a jerk!” She turned and stomped away, fully aware that she was proving him right, and yet- what a judgemental old-!

“If you would help him, you cannot be his friend _and_ his therapist,” Master Cyman said quietly, and she paused and half turned. Was that… actual advice? “If you would help yourself, you must leave him and come back to the Jedi.”

Ugh! She wasn’t doing that, what would Murlesson do without her, as a friend _or_ a therapist??

She didn’t need Master Cyman! She’d become a good Jedi anyway, and Murlesson would be just fine, and everything would be just fine!

After she finished being mad.

As Murlesson continued existence in bed while Ashara was out, Drellik came to hover nearby, claiming he had some questions about the reading he was doing on his datapad, but really just trying to be unobtrusively within call if Murlesson needed anything. They all thought he needed a babysitter, these days…

“So explain this to me,” Drellik said, interrupting Murlesson’s meandering stream of thought. He’d taken a seat on the office chair some time ago, rolling it over to his bedside. “The tomb of Naga Sadow on Korriban was built by Tulak Hord before Naga Sadow was even born?”

“Yes,” Murlesson said. Their conversation had turned from Drellik’s past work towards Murlesson’s wacky exploits, which Drellik had been made more clearly aware of since he’d joined the Viper’s crew, and apparently Drellik was somehow both thrilled to hear about them _and_ believed them all instantly. “It wasn’t like Tulak Hord looked into the future, saw Naga Sadow, and thought to himself: ‘I’ll just build an elaborate old tomb for the greatest Sith Lord of all time that he’s not even going to use’. I’m sure you’ve read the arguments that Tulak Hord built it for himself, then decided it wasn’t good enough, and the ones that say his minions decided it wasn’t good enough and built him a new one.” He shrugged. “Since Naga Sadow was not actually buried there, I can’t say I care whether it’s better or not.” _Don’t lie, you blindly follow Naga Sadow as if he’s a god. Anything of his is automatically the best in your eyes._

“But you found the Dashade shadow-killer there, rather than Tulak Hord’s tomb?”

“Don’t ask me why he did that. It doesn’t make any sense – unless you ascribe to the ‘minion-built alternate tomb’ theory.”

Drellik chuckled. “And when your master tried to steal your body, you used the artefacts of Tulak Hord to put her being into this Dashade?” _Put the witch’s soul in the monster, put the ghosts’ souls in you. What a meddler you are!_

“Somehow when you describe it, it sounds completely nuts,” Murlesson said. Probably because it was completely nuts. Very few aspiring Sith had to do such things. Or lived to tell about it. “Don’t forget the part where I received supernatural aid from my long-dead ancestor who was murdered by Khem and Tulak.”

“Kallig!” Drellik cried. “He was one of the most powerful Sith Lords of his time, now that I have a name to put to the exploits. Perhaps _the_ most powerful. And an alien, too! Even more unusual back then, I think.”

“A name to put to the exploits?” Murlesson asked.

“Oh, his name was removed very thoroughly from history. But Tulak Hord did have an incredibly skillful general, that much is clear. He didn’t conquer the Dromund system on his own, you know! And you yourself told me that Khem Val was ordered to kill him because Tulak Hord feared his power. To think how the Empire might have been different if he had killed Tulak Hord and not the other way around.” _It still would have been Sith. In time, the ripples of the past fade into a predictable future, and all your struggle is vain._

Murlesson shrugged. “He gave me a name and a lightsaber and a mask. It’s kept me going all this time.” _Not a thought for us. What an ungrateful child._

“Darth Zash and I have been talking. Well, when she’s around. I would love to speak more with Khem Val, but I don’t think he likes me.”

“Khem Val doesn’t like anyone, don’t worry about it,” Murlesson said.

“Still, when he gets that hungry glint in his eye… But anyway, I understand you inherited quite the archive from Zash. I would love to see it some time. It’s too bad we didn’t have much time going from Hoth to Dromund Kaas.”

“I would love to show it to you,” Murlesson said, finding himself speaking with genuine enthusiasm. “Though to be honest, Thanaton got most of it when I fled Dromund Kaas the first time. Most of my collection actually comes from…” His face and gut twisted, not that Drellik could see either. “My former owner. The one I murdered with twenty-three stab wounds to the chest.” _And nothing of value was lost. About the best thing you ever did, boy. The treacherous little viper grew his fangs that day._ He wasn’t used to his parasite chorus _approving_ of his actions, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Ah.” Drellik paused, giving the sense of a man having inadvertently stepped into a minefield. “If it’s not a good idea, then…”

“Oh, the collection is quite extensive, and of reasonable quality. Not that he knew the worth of half of it. He only knew he ought to have the biggest possible, and since he was so wealthy, it’s certainly the biggest on Commenor. I ought to assign you to the office there full-time, I think you would love it.” _Yes, get him away, he stinks of weakness_.

“That’s very tempting,” Drellik said cheerfully. “But I think I should stay on your ship for the time being. I know I haven’t been of much use so far, but you never know!” _Yes, he might make a good throw pillow_.

“You’re someone who understands,” Murlesson said quietly, looking away. Wondering why he trusted this strange, kindly man so quickly and easily. “Ashara likes history, but she’s never made a serious study of the Sith, as you might imagine. Revel doesn’t care; nor does Khem. Zash understands, but I don’t trust her as far as I could physically throw Khem. I… like to talk to you. I learn so much from you.” _Shut up, stupid child. No one cares about your feeeelings._

“I’m happy to be of service, but I’ve learned as much or more from you! It’s truly thrilling to meet a Sith who loves knowledge for its own sake.”

He’d said too much. “I’m tired now. I’d like to rest.”

“Very well. Call if you need anything!”

She returned hours later; he’d watched stupid videos of baby gizka, ignoring the asinine commentary of his resident peanut gallery, and dozed off while he waited. It was actually not that hard to do even with his mask on.

He heard her angry noises echoing through the ship and snorted to himself. “Didn’t go well, hmm?” _That child is so impatient… just like I was when I was young. So much potential for Darkness_. “Shut up. Drellik!”

Drellik stepped in at once. “Ah, yes, my lord?”

“Ask her if she’ll tell me what happened.”

“Right away!”

He could hear her punching walls as she approached, and she was practically smoking at the aural canals when she appeared in his doorway. “I sense great anger within you,” he said drily.

“Ugh! You can say that again! I can’t believe him! He turned me away! He _turned_ me _away_!”

“Did he say why?” _Oh, what a surprise. The Jedi turned on her, as they always do. They always claim to be more trustworthy than the Sith, but then the betrayal just hurts all the deeper_. He waved away the inner commentary impatiently. He was trying to listen to her, not them.

“Well, you know. _You’re_ too Sithy, and _I’m_ too emotional, so we’re both of us not worth his time! Argh! He said I ‘was no Jedi’! And he _refused_ to talk about you!”

“I’m not really surprised,” he said. “You’re temperamental, stubborn, and you left your training to follow a Sith. Why are you so disappointed?”

“But he’s… he’s Master Cyman! He’s supposed to help!”

She was so upset, her high hopes dashed so low, and tears were in her eyes. He sighed and held out his arms. She said hugs were good for people, right? “Jedi would never help me, anyway. You’re the aberration, being so stubborn over me.” Her and… the Rurouni. But from the rest, he knew better than to hope for anything. That was what meticulous planning and coercion were for.

She crawled into his embrace. “I’m sorry. I really really wanted to help.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “You did your best.” _And her best was pitiful. All as expected_.

“We’ll do it without him. We don’t need him. We’ll find a way.” She snuggled against him, slowly growing calm; he could feel the mantra of the Jedi Code running through her mind, quelling her anger. _Ah, so_ now _she remembers what she’s supposed to believe. Why could she not remember it in front of this important person she was so eager to impress?_

After a few minutes, she sat up. “Well, there’s something we can try right here on Alderaan.”

“What?” He had small hope, but he’d try anything once.

“What if…” She hesitated. “I promise, I’m not trying to convert you. But if we back up a step and really consider the Force impartially, the Dark side is known for its aggression and destruction, and the Light side for its protection and construction.”

He squinted sidelong at her. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’ve been sometimes trying to heal you in the Force, but it’s never been something I’ve been any good at. But if you could take hold of the Light just long enough to try…”

“That won’t work,” he said, looking away. “I don’t know what it feels like.” _You never will, lowly child of Darkness_.

“Well, Alderaan is really beautiful, and serene; it’s really conducive to the Light.” Though she winced, probably reflecting on how un-Light her tantrum with the Jedi had been. “So it might be easier for you to touch it here.”

He laughed a little bitterly. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll try it. It won’t work, but I’m desperate enough. Too bad the Jedi can’t weaponize this.”

She huffed. “What, to drive more Sith to the Light? That would be mean. Anyway, we should go down tomorrow somewhere. We can get a mobility device if you don’t have the energy to go far. I’m not a great teacher, but we’ll try together, okay?”

He shrugged. “I can’t sink any lower.” _Oh yes, you can. Little snake has not yet become a worm, crawling in the dust, fangless, mindless, crying for the end that we control. You can and you will sink to lower than you began, a slave, begging for mercy in the muck that spawned you._

He slammed his head into the wall, mask and all. “Shut the frak up!” Ashara dove for him before he could do it again, but he heard their laughter through the ringing in his ears.

Her experiment did not go well. Though Revel landed them in a beautiful location, which was completely lost on him, and though she told him the mechanics of meditation… it didn’t help. The whispers persisted, hissing through his subconscious like wind through dead leaves.

Around them were high peaks shimmering with white snow, and ahead was yet another incredible vista of the lowlands, green and hazy and serene. The ocean was visible in the far distance. The wind was gentle and smelled like soft grass. The antithesis of the tumult of Dromund Kaas, the polar opposite of the deathly stillness of Korriban. Yes, he could believe this was a place for Jedi to get in touch with the Light side.

But he was too permeated with Darkness for this to have an effect, even without the disdain of his parasites. The vista might be beautiful, even filtered through the lenses of his mask, but how was that supposed to help him? He stared at it in disinterest, at the copse of trees over on the right, at the crystal brook that tinkled its way down the mountainside on the left. Ashara was drinking it in, metaphorically, but it had no meaning for him. Especially since it seemed one was supposed to close one’s eyes when meditating. The Force was here, and his presence sat in it like a cold hard lump.

She parked his hover-chair where he could see everything, and he laboriously climbed out to sit on the grass. She sat down beside him, cross-legged, and he copied her. “Okay, so I don’t know what you should pick as a mantra… I don’t think the Side Code is going to work here, but I don’t know if you want to try the Jedi Code?”

“I’ll try anything,” he repeated, trying to feel relaxed. He didn’t feel relaxed. He felt empty.

“Then let’s start with: There is no emotion, there is peace.” She said it again, and again, trailing off into a near-inaudible murmur as she began to sink into her own meditation.

He said it mechanically, parroting her words. They were only words to him. There was no emotion for him now, and no peace, either. Just tiredness. And whispers. Always with the whispers.

The meditation initially led him inwards, down past the surface of his lack of emotion, down into Darkness. There was no Light in him, what was she talking about? Only helplessness, hopelessness, and as he began to feel himself, to open himself to his own vulnerability, he felt his thoughts begin to spin faster and faster, not slower and slower. Unstoppable, relentless, _wrong_. The Light was peace and serenity and harmony, wasn’t it? He’d never felt those for more than fleeting moments in his childhood, and then it was only because he was too young and naive to see how he was being used. The old hurt and anger came flooding back, a child’s illogical sense of betrayal, of abandonment, the useless rage he’d felt at any sentient more free than him. Because if they were free, they were buying him, selling him, owning him, mistreating him, lording over him in their lack-of-slavery, or just ignoring him as if he didn’t exist. He gritted his teeth against the hotness of his chest. It hadn’t been that long since he had been a slave, had been a powerless nothing screaming silently into nothing, and look at him, still doing it. He didn’t know how to find the Light, he was drowning in Darkness, murderer, liar, betrayer, hypocrite. He’d committed so many terrible sins, scarred his body and his soul, all in the name of living another day, and everything he’d done was out of hubris. The arrogance to think that he could ever truly escape from anything. He’d killed so many, too many to count, and yet he remembered every one of them, and at their head was Ten-

Dimly, he heard Ashara calling him, grasping his hands; her Light was shining before him, reaching out to him, and he cowered away from her before she burned him, falling further into the Dark storm inside him. His breath was coming in frightened gasps, his heartbeats roaring in his ears. He was caught inside himself, alone with his guilt, his fear, his pain, and the whispers. Now no longer whispers, grown to shouts. He wasn’t- He couldn’t- It hurt-

The voices screamed at him, drilling through his skull, no mockery now, only hatred and contempt.

His spirit lashed out, the only reaction he had left, and vaguely he sensed Ashara duck as a wave of energy blasted out of him and flattened the copse of trees, scorching the grass black instantly.

He was a wretched, half-paralyzed thing, lying in that sunny green meadow, trying desperately to breathe, to break out of his own mind and the virulent poison that churned there. “H-help… help me…” _NO ONE WILL HELP YOU NO ONE CAN HELP YOU_

“I’m here,” Ashara said, and now he could hear her. “I’m here. You’re all right.”

“I’m not,” he whispered. He could _feel_ his mind breaking, how odd was that? He laughed a sobbing, mirthless laugh, sharp and brittle, like everything else about him. It hurt; he needed to find a way to either make it stop or consume him completely, this was unendurable. He twitched, violently, and tried to slam his head on the ground. It didn’t work. It was too soft, with the grass and the dirt. He needed to find a rock. It hurt, everything hurt, physically, mentally, emotionally, and he needed it to hurt _more_ , he deserved to hurt _more_ , he didn’t deserve the life that he’d cheated his way to preserving at all costs-

Who would he kill next? When would he kill the people important to him? Because they _were_ important to him, despite his best efforts. How long until they betrayed him, as he’d always been betrayed since he was old enough to trust? He should have died as an infant, and better for everyone, including him.

She was cradling his head, trying to keep him from whacking it on anything else, and he sensed she was feeling a bit nervous. Probably hoping she wouldn’t end up like the trees.

Slowly, as he stared up at her anxious face, felt her hands steadying him, his breathing returned to his control.

“Let’s not do that again.”

Mutely, she nodded.

“How’d it go?” Revel asked when they returned to the ship. It had actually been a couple hours since they went out. Had going crazy really taken so long? It had felt like a lot less.

“It’s not for me,” he said drily, and went to go lie down and try not to think too hard. The mask was staying on.

Ashara came with him, and as she made to leave, he caught her sleeve. “Please. Stay.”

She hesitated, and his fractured will crumbled. “No, never mind. I’m sorry. I understand your fear. I’m afraid of me too.” Which was why he wanted her to stay, but… he’d suck it up. He always had, before. He was just… If he was alone now, he might go crazy again.

“I’ll stay,” she said softly. “I’m not afraid.” Liar. “Not more than I care about you, anyway.”

He made space for her, and she lay down beside him, holding his hand with both of hers. “I’m right here,” she whispered. “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here. Try and rest?”

He tried.

Eventually, he succeeded. Mostly.

He gave no orders, still not caring where they went; Zash asked Andronikos to travel to Commenor so she could look through Murlesson’s collection of Sith memorabilia there. He didn’t know if the office staff had finished cataloguing it. Well, she could do as she wished. It was fine. Maybe Drellik would go too.

His strength was still returning, and now he was well enough to walk about, still in pain, but no longer exhausted from the mere act of standing. But his growing control and awareness brought new problems to his attention. In between the pain, there was a feeling of numbness occasionally. Normally he might have shrugged off such a minor thing as nothing to worry about, at least not until later, but now… now everything was something to worry about.

He was washing his face one morning when he stopped, peering closely at his eyes. It was difficult to tell with his tattoos, difficult to tell with the physical signs of unhealthy weariness that he’d inadvertently cultivated since he’d graduated from Korriban. His tattoos ringed his eyes in inky black, and he’d had bags under his eyes since he discovered caf. But… his skin was… fragile. Withering, perhaps, was a better word, with Dark corruption that had never shown before. He leaned heavily on the sink, a shudder running through him. He remembered what had happened to Zash. That had been horrible. Would that happen to him? He’d end it first. Let the Dark claim him utterly before it consumed him like that.

As for the rest of him… He pulled away from the sink, sitting on the edge of his bed, and began unwrapping the bandages on his fingers, calmly, methodically, until he’d exposed his left hand. Mostly, it looked the same. Long, knobbly fingers, dark red skin, discolourations and ridged callouses on his palms from the burn scars.

The ends of his fingers were darkening, turning black. It was spreading in tiny thready veins down his fingers towards his hand. He stared at them for a long time.

“I’m falling apart,” he said finally. “All of me.” Not just his mind. He heard his parasites cackle.

Ashara poked her head in the room and saw him staring at his hand. “Oh, you found those.”

“You knew about this?” he asked, too dull to feel betrayed. _Oh, she knew, she knew, she kept secrets from you. Everyone does, doesn’t it hurt? How many have you kept, hmm?_

“I didn’t want to tell you, you had enough to worry about.”

“The fact that I’m dying physically as well as mentally didn’t strike you as important?” he asked sharply. His hearts were racing as he stared at his hands. What did this mean? Medically speaking, what was going to happen? Was he going to disintegrate from the extremities? How much would it hurt? How long before it got to his internal organs, or was it already there, unseen?

“Breathe,” she said gently.

He was about to hyperventilate, lungs spasming in the start of a panic attack. “I c-can’t-”

She hurried to kneel in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, preserving his privacy even as she offered him this physical connection to the support of her soul. “Breathe with me. Breathe in… Breathe out. Breathe in… Breathe out.”

He wasn’t able to follow her, even with her Force-sense holding his, but he slapped himself in the face, twice, and that jolted him out of it. He pulled away, getting his shakiness back under control, using anger to fuel it. “And what’s with instantly appearing the moment I show the slightest sign of feeling upset? Are you spying on me?”

She frowned unhappily up at him as he crossed the room away from her. “I’m keeping track of you very carefully, yes, but I’m only trying to be helpful. …Spying would be if I’m going to tell the others about it, wouldn’t it?”

“Whatever. I wish you wouldn’t. Can’t I freak out in peace?” _Oh, send her away! Send them all away, and let us truly in!_ Well, of all the things he could possibly do, he wasn’t doing _that_.

She huffed, and he could practically read her thoughts. He wasn’t getting peace anyway, freaking out was the opposite of being peaceful, and maybe she could provide some like she had before. He turned with the intention of going back over to the mirror, and half-way there just gave up. He slumped forward and let himself flop on the cold metal decking like a broken doll. He could feel the ridges pressing a pattern into his cheek, could feel his elbow protesting at being pulled in that particular way, and just let himself lie there dully.

“Can I go ahead and die yet?” he asked of the deck. “Make a lot of people very happy.” Thanaton, the parasites in his head, Harkun, Zash, Khem, basically everyone in both the Empire and the Republic.

“It would also make a lot of people very unhappy,” she protested, shifting to kneel beside him again. “What about everyone else on this ship?”

“They have other things they could be doing.” _They don’t really care about you. They’re only using you the way you use them_.

“What about Rylee and Destris and all those people who depend on you?”

“I’m sure Torga would be happy to have them. After I tell them to blow some things up to vent.”

“Weirdo. What about Aristheron?” Her voice sank, anxious, heartsore. “What about… me?”

She was foolishly deluding herself into thinking she liked him _that_ much. “Sunk cost fallacy. You’ll get over it.” _You should kill them before they betray you_. “Shut up…”

“I don’t want to get over it, you jerk!” Still stubborn.

“What even is the point?” he whispered, closing his eyes in a pained frown. “I fight and I fight and it just hurts more and more. Every time I win a reprieve from death I lose something else. I can’t get any of it back. I’m tired. There’s no point in pretending it’s worth it anymore.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “The Jedi say there is a way to live without fighting, but I’ve never seen it myself. But I _know_ there’s a point to life. I know there is. You can’t give up on us yet.” _She’s lying. Whether from ignorance or naive optimism, she is wrong. Take it from the dead, life is futile, a vain pursuit of power that accomplishes nothing if you can’t have immortality. Which we still hope to get…  
_

“Have you seen it?” he asked dully. “Can you prove to me there’s a point to living?”

It was amusing and numbing, how the ghosts sometimes spoke the same as his internal monologue had always spoken. Despite their viciousness, their cruelty, they weren’t saying much that was new. He’d heard a lot of it before, from himself. But what that truly meant was that he had pre-emptively given them so much power over him, by already being depressed. He couldn’t help but accept their words as true. And they echoed so loudly… _There is nothing here for you. Just let us in…_

“I-I don’t know if I can prove it… but… Look, while I’m thinking about it, can’t you just live out of spite, like you usually do?”

He rolled his eyes. “Look where that’s got me. Terminally ill.” More cackling.

“We don’t know it’s terminal yet! Anyway, please, don’t give up. I’m here with you every step of the way.”

“Don’t want me to drag you further into despair, so you’ll drag me out of it?”

“Huh? I guess?” She touched his face, and he rolled over to look at her; he sensed she wanted him to. “Listen: I know living is difficult. I know hope is painful. Not as well as you know it, but I do. But it’s worth it. I promise.”

Her sincerity was painful to feel, and he didn’t let it impact too far into his soul. “Well, I guess I won’t kill myself today at least.” _Tomorrow’s another day…_

“Fair enough,” she said in kind, stroking his face and smiling a little. She was so pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal story: I’m a professional pianist, and recently I was working with a singer who chose to sing The Rainbow Connection. I hadn’t heard it before, and there was something incredibly beautiful about its harmonies and words that almost made me cry in the practice room. As a result, I decided I wanted to give Murlesson a similar experience. So that’s why Ashara suggests watching Star Wars-Moana (which also makes me cry every time). Poor boy isn’t immune to the expert psychological manipulations of the Mouse Machine.


	21. Venom Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murlesson listens to [death](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=taj7UfkahNE) [metal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLWYhPa2C3Q)! ([optional listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QScDSAoXlNs) with swear words) I don’t care for it personally, (symphonic/power metal for me!) but I respect his choices. (Ashara probably listens to, like, [J-pop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kA36ml3Qv5o) or [something](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GsejWouYpgo). I know the Republic has got a more Classic Rock/Country feel going on, but she doesn’t strike me as either of those, personally. Or maybe I just like J-pop.)
> 
> You know what, Khem reminds me of Sten from Dragon Age Origins. >.> Big, grumpy, honourable-combat-obsessed warrior with an oversized sword. Or maybe that’s just how I wrote both of them, oops.

Part 21: Venom Rising

He was getting better physically every day, though he was still far too tired and his appetite was still low. But though the ache persisted – an ache he now knew was linked to his body falling apart, as his headache was linked to his parasites nibbling at his mind – he could bear it enough to move around as normal.

Which led to Ashara bouncing into his room after a few more days, and poking him with both index fingers in the shoulder. “Hey. Hey hey hey. Let’s spar today. Stop with the screaming noises and spar with me.”

He pouted at her through the mask and pulled his headphones off. It was helping, a tiny bit, to listen to music. It almost drowned out the ghosts under the music that he had already found he liked to listen to: dissonant, tortured, distorted electronica, incoherent shrieking vocals, and percussion that sounded like it had been tossed down a 50-story echoing stairwell by an enraged Wookiee. It was chaotic and disturbing and gave catharsis to his soul, gave him some measure of feeling strong when he was pathetically weak. It was only an illusion, so he shouldn’t have clung to it, but… Revel said music was important, so he allowed himself this vanity. And it didn’t exacerbate his perpetual headache. _What I don’t understand is why you relate so strongly to how the Force-ignorant feel about their helpless lot in life. Oh, the boy has a juvenile taste in music, it’s only to be expected. He may grow out of it, give him time, Horak. Oh wait. He’s running out of time. Rapidly. Heheheheh…_ “But I like it.” _  
_

“Well, that too. I was trying to make a joke about your Force sense.” She grimaced. “Fell a bit flat, didn’t it? C’mon, let’s go spar. You’re well enough to. Bring the music if you have to.”

She was utterly transparent; trying to posit her sudden demand as if she were bored, and not as if she were trying to drag him bodily back into action, back into living now that he was physically capable of it.

He sighed and hauled himself laboriously out of his office chair. “Fine.”

“Yay! I’ve got the cargo hold all set up!” There wasn’t much to set up, usually – they never carried much in the way of cargo, and what there was Ashara usually shoved into a corner and later Drellik would complain that he couldn’t find anything he was looking for. They had some floor mats for improved footing, some wall mats to absorb any stray lightning. They could never get too carried away, either, it was a small space even with no cargo in it. But having regular basic practice had definitely improved his skills since Ashara came on board.

He met her there a few minutes later, in a loose black tunic and pants, and without the mask for once. She tilted her head to the side curiously. “Not going to wear it right now?”

“I like breathing,” he retorted, putting the music on at a volume they could talk over. She winced at it but said nothing. “Especially since this is going to suck.”

“It’s not going to suck.” She handed him his training staff and took up her own pair of practice blades.

“It is,” he grumbled as they began to warm up together, practicing technique before they started practicing on each other as they usually did. “May as well give a lightsaber to Drellik, he’d be on my skill level right now.” _How far you have fallen… you who tried to assassinate a Darth_.

Ashara clicked her tongue at him. “I don’t believe you. Anyway, I’ve learned how to pace my sparring partner by now.”

As compared to when he was spying on her? “What do you mean, ‘by now’?”

“When I was studying on Yavin 4, my primary goal was to get through my training and go fight some Sith! Did I tell you about that? I think I mentioned that. And I was the best in my class!”

“Which is also a thing you have mentioned,” he said drily.

“Well, it’s true! So anyway, I didn’t get it then, what Master Ryen was trying to teach me by pairing me with Varek, who… wasn’t very good, and I kept getting frustrated because he was A) not helping me get better for fighting Sith, and B) going to get killed if he ever tried to fight Sith.” _You should have hunted him down and rid the galaxy of him before you quit Yavin 4._

“Well, here I am, a Sith,” he said. “Come kill me.” He beckoned as they took places opposite each other.

She gave him an exasperated look. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say! Sparring with you, I’ve figured out how to pace myself so we both benefit, and I _don’t_ kill you by getting carried away. And right now, sure, maybe I won’t have much of a challenge, but that’s fine, it’ll be better later, once you’re back to your old self. And if we don’t keep your skills up, you’ll never get back to your old self!”

His answering look was dour. “You’re better at your worst than I am on my best days. Why should you ever bother to pace yourself?” _She pities you, worm. That’s all you’re good for these days._

She smiled brightly. “Because your control of telekinesis is parsecs ahead of mine, so if I ever started going too hard, I’m pretty sure you’d just smash me into the wall! Heheh.”

“Huh. And here I am telling myself that if I ever act up, you’ll just stab me with your superior swordwork. Seems we’re both afraid of each other.”

She made another exasperated huff. “I’m _not_ afraid of you.”

 _She lies. Or pretends she believes otherwise_. “You aren’t?”

“Let me think about it!” They traded a few more blows. He was still slow and clumsy, over-correcting most of the time. She was still beautiful and graceful, concentrating on holding back just the right amount for him. “Yeah, no. You might have done some stuff that we’re not getting into right now, but you wouldn’t hurt me. You’re a sweetheart, even if you’re the grouchiest guy I ever met.”

He shook his head. “And you’re the strangest girl I ever met. And that includes my cultists.”

She giggled and began to push him harder. He was already running short of breath and sweating. “The healthy way to think about it would be that we respect each other’s abilities and strengths!”

He pulled back, held out a hand. “In that case, respect that I am done for the day.”

“I was thinking you could go another five or ten minutes, but sure, okay.” _Weak_.

Nope. He put his head down, leaning on his knees. This was fine. It wasn’t like he was going into battle any time soon. She dropped a towel on his head and rubbed it around, trying to get most of the sweat off even though he was going for a shower as soon as he got his breath back anyway. He staggered a little under her not-so-gentle ministrations, spluttering and backing away from her. “Ease up, this isn’t part of the fight.”

She wrapped it even more firmly around him and hugged him tightly. “I gotchu. And you can’t get me. Hahahaha!” Her spirit was warm against him, affectionate and playful.

He shook his head somewhere under the towel. “Jedi just can’t let Sith win, can they.” He couldn’t even get his arms free. _I wish she would try and kill you, just to see what would happen_.

She pulled it off enough to see his face, although he still couldn’t move his arms. “Sometimes it’s difficult to get close to you. So here you are.” She smiled brilliantly, and leaned up to kiss him.

Well, he often said she rendered him helpless, but he didn’t quite mean it so literally. Even as he kissed her back, he struggled with his arms until she let him out, then pulled her against him. It had been a while since he’d kissed her like this – not since before Thanaton – and suddenly he was starved for it. He wanted to devour her mouth, crush her against him, caress her lekku… easy, he couldn’t lose control now. Besides, wasn’t it enough just to feel her body against his and the soft touch of her lips…?

A searing pain shot through his skull and he fell back with a gasp, clutching his head and stumbling to one knee. Ashara hovered, her hands lingering on his shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He winced and managed a hoarse chuckle. “I don’t think your ancestor likes what I’m doing very much.”

The parade of emotions across her face was something to see, but eventually she settled on disgusted anger. “That is _none_ of his business! Wow! He needs to check _out_ if he doesn’t like it! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Are you gonna be okay?”

“It won’t last forever.” He winced as another spasm hit him. “Probably.” This meant he’d never be able to get her naked, didn’t it. Oh gods, his migraine just ramped up another notch. Kalatosh was making his opinion quite clear.

“Okay. You should go rest. Wanna do this again tomorrow? The sparring, I mean. Not the… you know.”

“…Yeah. All right.”

Next day they met again in the cargo hold, and immediately she commented on his demeanour. “You look tired. Did we go too hard yesterday?”

“No. It’s… what’s that line – I’ve been running through your dreams all night.”

She snorted and giggled. “That was smooth! But I think you’re supposed to say that the other way around.”

He really had been running in his dreams, trying to get away from some nameless fear that was going to devour him with inconveniently sharp teeth, but that was irrelevant. It was actually refreshingly generic, after the nightmares where Ten and Nel stood silently, staring at him accusingly, or the nightmares where Thanaton stepped on him like a literal bug, or the nightmares where he was being electrocuted, which were becoming more frequent, probably due to his aches. “Anyway, I’m fine. I was going to incorporate Force techniques today.” _Oh, yes, good. Come, lose yourself in the Dark Side!_ He shook away the annoying, demanding pull.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Good thing we still have the rubber mats up. Just don’t tire yourself out too early.”

“You’re not going to call me out for being lazy and using the Force as a crutch for my terrible saber technique?”

She smiled. “You’re recovering! Do what works for you. And I always need practice dodging and blocking Force techniques anyway.”

“All right then.” Warm-up complete, music screaming quietly in the background, he settled into a combat crouch, saber ready behind him. They circled, watching each other intently, waiting for someone to make the first move.

It was her, it was usually her, always breaking the ice for him, giving him a relatively slow attack to parry and counter attack against. Which he did, and then she counter-parried his counter-attack, and so on for several strikes until he tried to zap her feet and she had to hop back. She was grinning. “Ooh, tricksy!”

They could use training blades instead of real lightsabers, but he couldn’t tone down his powers much. If he pushed her too hard, she could get hurt. If he hit her with lightning, it was going to hurt. But then again, she was holding back for him. He always held back for her. And adding in some real danger seemed to excite her. Maybe a little too much, really. _Kill the Jedi! Destroy her utterly!_ “Aren’t you supposed to be practicing blocking?”

“That one was a little low to block,” she said. “And dodging is good too.”

He grunted and then they both settled in to duel. She was shining, sparkling, almost, in the Force, radiating calm self-control. She might not have liked the music that he liked, but to him it almost looked like she was dancing, she was so quick on her feet. And he had plenty of pain to draw on even for sparring practice, dragging his shadow around after him. He interrupted a chain of her strikes with a Force-push, and she crossed her blades to shield, and dissipated it well. The music gave him energy, more than if they’d fought in silence, and he felt a determination that he hadn’t felt in some time – even if he was already starting to get tired. But already they’d gone longer than yesterday, so… progress?

He snarled as he pushed out again, and Ashara – failed to block it, stumbling backwards with a startled look and a cry.

No, not startled: frightened. He’d scared her- “What? What did I…” He wanted to jump forward to help her, but if he’d scared her, he should stay away…

“Y-you-” Her eyes were wide and fearful but she was scrambling to her feet. Cautiously. “Your… I could have sworn you had fangs for a second there, and it… startled me.”

That would explain it. “Fangs?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, found them all to feel normal.

“M-maybe it was a trick of the light,” Ashara said. “You were getting pretty into it, huh?”

Was that all it was? “No… You wouldn’t be afraid of the light…” He dropped his practice blade on the ground and ran back to his cabin, to the mirror.

His teeth all looked fine as he grimaced at himself. But he hadn’t just been making faces at her. He snarled. No change.

No. He’d been using the Force as he did it. He opened the floodgates, just a crack, letting hatred and despair well out, and screamed silently.

And stumbled back, much the way she had, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside on the cold hard decking.

Oh yes. Those were fangs. His eyes had flashed with supernatural light, his whole face seemed to darken. Even if he looked now and simply saw his own tired, shocked, miserable face, it didn’t change what had happened.

He covered his face with his hands. “I really am a monster.” Somehow it was easier to deal with when he was just speaking of morality, but… physically transforming – or at least displaying an inadvertent illusion – chilled him to the core. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? What a horrible, vain person he was.

“You aren’t,” Ashara said quietly from the doorway.

He Force-pushed her out quickly and slammed and locked the door. The music was still rampaging and he blasted the local speaker with pure kinetic energy, then crumpled into his knees, sobbing silently into his hands in the deafening silence. He was a monster, a freak, inside and out, and no hippie-dippy words from a Jedi would change that or make him feel better about it.

She was tapping on the door. “Murlesson, let me in.”

“Go away.” His voice was strangled, cracking.

“Please. You’re not a monster.”

He threw the chair at the door, breaking the arm off. “Leave me alone.”

Her Force-presence hovered a moment more, then withdrew. To the other end of the ship, to the engine room. He could sense the others converging on her, to find out what was going on with him. How could she know? How did he know himself?

Why did he care?

What was he going to do now? Wallow in self-pity? Keep going like nothing was wrong? Naga Sadow would accept it as a price of power. Maybe even a perk for intimidating people with. He really was being too sensitive about this. His head pulsed with pain, his body ached. What kind of useless Sith was he?

 _A little boy, a baby boy who reached for more power than he had the maturity to handle_ , came the answer from Ergast. _You dabbled in Darkness your whole life but you were never a Lord of the Sith_.

 _Will you falter at this miniscule distraction?_ Horak-Mul demanded contemptuously. _I cannot believe you defeated me with a soul this weak_.

“Well, sorry for being slightly alarmed at something I had no warning of,” he mumbled, viciously sarcastic. He had been strong before. He had been so strong, determined, unstoppable. They were wrong.

 _Did you think being a Sith came with warning labels!?_ Kalatosh cried. _Are you more foolish than all the Jedi put together!? You knew what you were risking!_

 _Little snake really is a snake,_ was Andru’s so-helpful contribution, with a psychotic peal of laughter.

Stop. He needed to take stock of everything. So far the count was: his body was decaying, his aura was damaged to the point that it visibly manifested when he used it, and he had four tag-alongs trying to take over his mind. He didn’t know how to catalogue the emotional scarring so he lumped that all into ‘PTSD, deal with later’.

And what, really, was he going to do about it? Thanaton was going to devote all his time and attention to him now, now that he’d challenged him directly, and wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead. _What’s he thinking now? Going to run and hide in his deepest, darkest hole?_ “Shut up, you lot.” He just needed a few more minutes to focus. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer, if he wanted to have a chance of surviving further. Assuming Zash found him a solution. And he didn’t trust her on anything, but without him, she would have a hard time of it, fighting eternally with Khem for control, so he could more or less trust her to try to save him for now.

It was time to get back to work. He picked up his mask and put it on. His headache lessened slightly.

Somehow this newest blow had broken him into being functional again, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. But then again… if Murlesson couldn’t handle this life… maybe Lord Kallig could. Lord Kallig definitely could.

He picked the chair away from the door, opened it, and found Khem Val looming in it. < _This far I have tolerated your weakness, little Sith, but no further. You have been helpful, but you are no master to me_.>

_Oho, even the beast thinks you’re not worth the air you breathe. How will you respond?_

He glared coldly up at him. “I am your master. Wounded as I may be, I’m still stronger than you.”

< _Prove it._ >

He clenched his teeth and flicked Khem away with a blast of the Force, then sprinted back to the cargo hold, summoning his training blade to his hand. “Do you need a reminder of who is in charge? Spoiler alert: it’s not you.” Nor was it the ghosts in his head. _He_ was lord and master here, dammit!

Khem had picked himself up fluidly and drawn his broadsword; they faced off in the common area, Khem with his blade raised, Murlesson in a relaxed guard. He still didn’t have his stamina back. He couldn’t fight Khem for long. < _You will not fight me with your lightsaber? Then you will doom yourself. I will slay you, depart this ship, and eject the witch through my own means_.>

Murlesson laughed, and for a moment, Khem paused. “Try it, pet of Tulak Hord.” Somehow everything had reset, and it was like their first meeting all over again, with all the virulent animosity they’d both had then.

“ _What_ are you doing!?” Ashara cried from the door to the engine room. “Stop it, both of you!”

“This is necessary,” he said. “It will be over soon. Come on, Khem. I’ll give you a beating just like the first time.” But with more baggage. _Yesss, fight! Punish the insolent Dashade! Kill him!_

Khem roared and rushed him. Ashara squealed in dismay and jumped back, sensing that neither of them were going to hold back. Drellik and Revel had appeared behind her, Revel watching with eager anticipation, Drellik with apprehension.

He couldn’t allow Khem to destroy the practice blade, and flung out his hand to zap him instead. Khem rolled to the side and kept coming; Murlesson hopped away, wrestling for control over the Force, to at least use his own strength, even if the ghosts wouldn’t let him use theirs at the moment. The control panel he’d hit with lightning exploded, spraying sparks, and the ship’s lights flared for a moment as the systems balanced out the sudden influx of energy. Drellik looked even more alarmed. “Oh dear, do be careful.”

Khem was much, much faster and stronger than when they’d fought in Naga Sadow’s Korriban tomb. He was experienced, and cunning, and those beady little eyes were burning with rage. If he’d been this strong when they’d first fought, Murlesson wouldn’t have survived.

“Khem!” Ashara tried to cry out. “Don’t do this! I know you respect strength, but you have to give him time to recover! Even a Sith needs time to recover after spending everything!”

Khem growled in answer. < _Then he should have made a better plan. My master Tulak Hord would not have been brought so low!_ >

“Don’t deceive yourself, Dashade,” Murlesson grunted, ducking and spraying lightning before him. “Tulak Hord was brought low by an insignificant apprentice, or have you already forgotten what Veshikk Urk told you?”

Khem roared and swung; Murlesson sidestepped as Khem clove a giant gash in the decking, then reached out to slap Khem on the hands with the training blade. The broadsword fell from Khem’s grasp, but Khem would easily beat him to death with his bare hands if necessary. But now he had a weapon and Khem didn’t.

Just a little longer. He had to maintain the illusion that he was invincible just a little longer. Never mind the fact that his knees were beginning to quiver with exertion, after the sparring ‘match’ he’d just had with Ashara.

He clenched his fist, channeling with all his concentration, and just as Khem drew back to punch him in the gut with a blow that might shatter his spine, a big, heavy cargo container flew past him and into Khem’s chest, knocking him backwards. Drellik jumped, now anxious over the articles inside the container. Murlesson didn’t care. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be more important than his life.

Before the Dashade could recover, Murlesson had thrown his practice blade forward, striking him precisely in the middle of his ugly, misshapen head. And with the Force, again, and again. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as getting his shoulders into it and punishing Khem himself like he had the first time, but a lot safer and probably more effective. “I won’t stop until you yield.” _PUNISH HIM PUNISH HIM_

Khem struggled, but every time he tried to get up, Murlesson thwacked him again, right side, left side, head. He wondered how terrifying he would look without the mask, if his eyes would be burning with that horrible dark light, as he flung his anger and frustration at Khem. The training blade snapped.

Khem ponderously raised himself to his feet, covered in burns and bruises, but still with plenty of fight left in him. < _Now you are defenseless. And I won’t stop until you are dead_.>

“You and every other frakking fool in the frakking galaxy.” Murlesson took a step back to get line-of-sight with the door of his cabin, and summoned his lightsaber, which blazed to life as it reached his hand. He fixed Khem with a haughty look. “You were saying?”

Khem stopped at once. <… _I yield_.>

“Do you? Do you actually? Because I would be more than happy to continue until you truly know your place.” _NO KILL HIM NOW LET HIM BLEED ALL OVER THE SHIP_

He resisted the urge to punch himself in the head. But it was difficult. They were very strong when their bloodlust was up, and it was _very_ difficult to get them to shut up and settle down enough for him to focus.

< _I refuse to die to you. You have bested me… master._ >

“Good. Now get out for a minute, I need to talk to Zash.”

< _…Yes… master._ > Oh, Khem was angry. But… perhaps he’d recovered some of his respect. Once he really had his strength back and could go on missions again, and Khem had something other than him to unleash his frustrations on, the tension between them ought to decrease.

“Hello, Murlesson,” Zash said a moment later. She inspected some of the burns on Khem’s arms, poked at the ones on his head, then looked at Murlesson. “You look… slightly better today. I take it Khem did something stupid just now.”

“I’d appreciate it if you called me something more formal,” he said coldly, shutting off his lightsaber. “But what have you found for me regarding a solution for my condition?”

“Ah, so you’re finally taking an interest. I regret to say I haven’t found anything concrete, but I think there might be something on Korriban of use.”

“Then let’s go there directly-”

“May I advise-”

“You may not interrupt me, is what,” he snapped. He’d been far too lenient with all of them for too long. They were not his friends. They were his minions. Except Ashara, with Ashara it was complicated. “ _What_ would you advise?” _Don’t listen to her. She is weak and wants to kill you_.

Zash, ever proud, did not apologize. “I’m not done with the materials from Commenor. May I suggest you direct Harkun to send your prospective apprentices to recover certain materials from Ajunta Pall’s tomb? He seems to have had an apprentice who suffered from a similar affliction. I’ll write down what it is and where I think it can be found so you can pass it on. Also, it would be a good, traditional test for them – it’s a bit unbecoming for a Lord to fetch his own artefacts with Korriban is involved.”

“Which is ridiculous, but if you think you can glean something from your present resources, then I will do it. Revel! Set course for Vaiken.”

“Attaboy… sir,” Revel said, brushing past him to the cockpit with a bit of a grin.

Murlesson stared after him in shock. Had Revel… just called him something other than ‘kid’? And all it took was a little yelling. He’d even ignore the ‘attaboy’… for now.

“What shall I do, my lord?” Drellik asked, as bright as ever, as if he hadn’t just witnessed a brutal disciplining.

He could relax a little around Drellik. Drellik was harmless to him, for now. “I’m afraid I have no orders for you yet. Carry on.” He was doing some study of Murlesson’s collection on his own, wasn’t he? Without the ability to operate holocrons, he probably wouldn’t find anything relevant to his condition. But… every piece of knowledge was useful eventually. Zash had taught him that, at least.

“Will do, my lord!”

He couldn’t help glancing at Ashara. Her spirit was roiling with confused feelings – distress, righteous anger, hurt. She glared at him. “I’m not talking to you. That was horrible!”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. It was necessary.

She stalked into the engine room and shut the door behind her; a quarter-second later, it swished open again. “I changed my mind. Get in here!”

“Are you telling me what to do?” he asked coldly.

She hesitated. “No. But I think we- I don’t want to say ‘we need to talk’, because I’m not… okay, I _am_ upset with you, but we should communicate about it, not just go away mad and let our negativity fester.”

He barked a short laugh. “Like I’ve been doing as long as I can remember?” Of course, no one had ever offered to talk about it before. …Unless one counted such things as Netokos’s ‘talks’, which had been obnoxiously one-sided.

She twitched, but held onto her temper with a mighty act of will. “Please just talk to me. Come on. In here, in private.”

He was about to fall over from exertion. Every muscle in his body was shaking from strain, and it was a good thing his mask was on so they couldn’t see the sweat beading on his face or the probable lack of colour in his crimson skin. “Now’s not a good time. I will talk to you later.”

She bowed her head. “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get. Later, then.”

He found himself drained of all his energy once he returned to his cabin, and a few hours to rest didn’t do much to restore it. He’d spent too much too soon, and he was going to pay for it tomorrow, too.

He was so tired he didn’t go out in search of Ashara, but sent his thoughts towards her. _You wanted to talk?_

She showed up in a minute or two. “You’re feeling… better?”

“Not really.” He was sitting on the edge of his bed, mask on, blanket wrapped around him. What did she think?! Did he look or sense better!?

“Well, I’m glad I had time to think. Not talking right away was a good thing, you were right.” She heaved a sigh and plopped herself down cross-legged on the floor near his broken chair, facing him. “Every day on this ship is so topsy-turvy, I swear. One day I love you for being smart and clever and amazing, another day I just want you to find healing so that you don’t have to suffer anymore, because no one deserves what you’ve been through, and then some days… I just want to kick your butt for being so abusive. And then blaming it on ‘it’s what Sith do’.”

“It _is_ what Sith do,” he argued. _It is what Sith do_ , his inner voices chimed in, with various emotions – indignation, amusement, cold intent. He was going to comment disbelievingly on the ‘love’ part, but he was already distracted. This was more important. “Sith may be abusive, but it gets results.” He made a sarcastic smile that she couldn’t see through the mask. “I would know.”

“Well, sometimes it gets results that don’t work very well. I mean, Khem’s definitely going to try and kill you again. You humiliated him. That’s awful. He used to respect you, especially for getting those bones back, even though I get the impression that he never _liked_ anyone. I’m actually really upset with him too for being so impatient about you recovering immediately.”

“That’s just who he is.” _He is a good slave_.

“Well, who he is isn’t very reasonable.”

“Have you _met_ Khem? And trying to kill one’s master is normal. Expected. I’m expecting him to try again. Probably not for a while, but there’s always the chance he could attack me again tonight. I’m still physically weak. If he can get the jump on me, he’d win.” Khem probably never tried to kill Tulak Hord after their first duel, but Tulak Hord had a lot less petty druk to put up with. That he knew of. He knew he wasn’t Tulak Hord, so he just had to establish dominance by whatever means necessary. Khem wouldn’t respond to fancy words or feelings. But she didn’t understand that, because she _did_ respond to words and feelings. Complicated. _Oh, stop trying to convince her you’re right. She’ll never believe it. She’s incapable. Unless you hurt her like you’ve been hurt…_ No, stop it!

“That’s no way to live!” she exclaimed. “I just wish you’d stop with all this toxic masculinity bantha shit!”

“I’m sorry, what did you call it? We weren’t talking about men. We were talking about the Sith.” He added to himself: “And some of the most abusive Sith I’ve known have been women.” Definitely not all of them. But no gender or species held a monopoly on cruelty, especially among the Sith.

“Fine, toxic Sithisicity, then.”

He blinked at her. “Say that again.”

The tension was spooling out of the room. She gave him a lopsided smile. “Sithicisicithsicity?”

“That one. I think you made it up.”

“Language evolves, deal with it.” She grew serious again. “But I know you’re better than them.”

He snorted. “I’m not.”

“You-”

“No. I’m really not. Don’t make excuses for me. My face earlier today told you what I really am. I am a monster, like I’ve always said. Monsters are not good, and monsters can’t change.” They didn’t have to be good. They just had to win.

“That’s not true,” she said softly. “Anyone can change. I know you aren’t a monster, not deep down inside. And it’s not just because I like you. I _know_.”

“How would you know?” he snapped, recoiling.

She shuffled forward on her knees until she could reach out and unclasp the mask from his face. To look on his actual face, in all its uncertainty and hurt and tiredness. His red hair hanging lank and unbrushed, his yellow eyes bloodshot, the bags under his eyes puffy, the Dark corruption creeping across his flesh. She didn’t recoil from his unkempt decay; in fact, her gaze softened with melancholy affection. “ _Because_ you hurt so much.”

He looked away from her earnest brown eyes. “Nonsense. Any psychopath can get hurt feelings.”

“No. I’m no psychologist, so I don’t know what psychopaths think, but I do know – half of your burden is guilt. It’s hard to detect – you normally keep your sense so carefully concealed, it’s really hard to tell what you’re thinking. But I’ve caught enough flashes to know, you’re struggling with unbearable amounts of guilt.” _Because you are weak and care too much. I never cared for my own children, why should you care for those not even connected to you?_

He avoided her eyes silently. She wasn’t as clever as him, but she was far too smart, given time.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You feel more than you let on, about anything. You feel guilty over hurting people. You want your friends to like you, even if you grumble about them. You like me, a lot, maybe you love me. You laugh – yes, you _can_ laugh, like a normal person – and you cry. And that means… you have a soul.”

“Souls are unnecessary baggage,” he grumbled. Dammit, she wasn’t wrong. He was a terrible Sith. “It would be so much easier if I didn’t have one.” _He knows what he must do, he’s only too much of a coward to do it_. No, that was wrong, he argued silently. He could feel guilt all day but the important thing was that he still did what was _necessary_. Of course, Ashara would probably argue that that just made him worse, that he knew things were wrong and did them anyway.

It was confusing and he just wanted to sweep the confusion and guilt and pain away in one blow. But he didn’t know how. Not without hurting Ashara and he refused to do that. _See, a coward_.

“I know. But life without a soul isn’t… isn’t living.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t know.”

“I’ve seen people without souls,” she said grimly. “Some politicians… But anyway, I know you have one, and I know you can change, and I _know_ you can heal and have a better life without hurting other people. Without hurting yourself through hurting other people.”

“I’d like to see that,” he said sarcastically. But he was tired, almost too tired for sarcasm. Too tired to act as the Lord of the Sith he ought to be. “But what’s the point? Why do you want me to do all this?” _What would any of that gain you, boy, besides compounding your vulnerabilities?_

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, getting even closer to him, her fingertips on his cheeks. He did so. At least then he didn’t have to look at her. “You know we have a Force bond, right?”

Yes, he did have that vague idea. Two Force-sensitives, working closely together, joined both by their informal, unorthodox master/apprentice relationship and their mutual affection, it was only natural they should have some sort of spiritual bond. “What about it?”

“Have you _really_ tried to feel it? Really really?”

He had not. It paled in significance compared to feeling her spirit. He hadn’t tried to pay much attention to any possible bonds, anyway. They were only liabilities. _No don’t touch it, it’s foolish_.

“Let me show you,” she whispered, letting go of his face, and she took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold and hers were warm. _Don’t let her, she’ll only hurt you! NO DON’T_

For a moment, he almost froze up. This was terrifyingly intimate, possibly even more terrifying than the prospect of sex, and certainly a lot less alluring. But he let her be. He… trusted her this much. And he wanted to see what she wanted to show him. Not to mention if his parasites didn’t want him to, he wanted to. So he followed her, the Light of her spirit, found the threads that joined them – slender but tenacious, and more luminous than he’d expected. He followed her, followed her into his own Darkness, past the howling voices, following those threads, down… down… down to his cold black core.

Except… there was a spark there. A spark he’d never noticed before, not even when he’d searched for it so frantically.

He flinched and pulled away, blinking his eyes open. “What- how did-”

“I knew it!” she said triumphantly. “ _Everyone_ has some Light in them, just like _everyone_ has some Dark in them. And no one who feels things like you could possibly not have some Light somewhere.”

It was a handicap. A liability. As well as the thread of Light that joined the two of them, and- it wasn’t the only one, now that he fumbled for the other Force-bonds he’d grown over time. The one to Thanaton was as stygian and rotten as could be, unsurprisingly. Zash, less so, but still dark and corroded. But there was one to Aristheron – light. One to Vany – light. One to Drellik, and to Revel, and to Khem – all, shockingly, to various degrees, light.

He needed to excise all of them as soon as possible. He couldn’t take power and destroy the Empire with all these bonds, this Light surrounding him and within him.

No, he was freaking out again. This wasn’t logical. Maybe Ashara could help. “I don’t like it.” For the time being, he took that tiny spark that he was now far too aware of and buried it deep under overwhelming Darkness. No one would know about it except Ashara. _Like you could ever go to the Light. You have no power there. Your power is here_. Then why had they been so repulsed by him discovering it!? Not that he was planning to become a Jedi, but they couldn’t be making this big a fuss over nothing.

Her eyes were steady on his. “I think you would like it less if you destroyed it. You would become like Thanaton. And no one wants that.”

He frowned. “Have I mentioned I hate when you see through me? Especially when you do it so easily.”

“It’s not easy,” she protested softly. “You’re a locked and encoded datapad. I’ve been trying to figure you out this whole time and I’ve only gotten this far.” _Heheh, to us you’re a wide-open holocron_.

“That’s farther than anyone else has bothered to get.” It was scary. “Why do you even want to? You should just go back to the Republic and stop worrying about me.” _Yes, send her away before she does any more damage_.

“I’m not going back, no matter how many times you tell me to,” she said impatiently. “I want to stay with you, even if it makes me a bad Jedi. I won’t give up on you. What would you do without me, anyway?”

She was dancing around her true answer, around the word she’d used earlier that they’d both pretended she didn’t, the one that scared even her. Did he dare drag it out between them? “Because you think you love me.”

She blushed dark orange, almost brown. “Don’t make fun of me. I _do_.”

He gave her an incredulous smile. “Now I know you’re crazier than me, and I have parasites in my head.” _You’re both immature idiots who have no idea what you’re talking about_. He fought the urge to sharply retort. He might not know anything, but what did ancient dead Sith know about love, either!?

“I love you, dammit,” she snapped, though she wasn’t really angry. “Yes, sometimes you’re a jerk, and you hurt people, and I’m not making any excuses for the stupid things you do, but right there, what I just showed you, is why I do. You’re not evil.”

“Low bar, there, don’t trip on it,” he teased her, aware that baiting her was not the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life.

She growled and lunged at him, knocking him backwards onto the bed and kissing him soundly. “You – really – are – a jerk. Stop it.”

He couldn’t answer because his mouth was stopped up with hers.

She stopped suddenly. “Wait. Are you going to get hurt again?”

His head was already splitting. “Screw him. Keep going.”

_You’ll regret that…_

He walked. All about him was dark, a dark night outside. He didn’t know where he was, but he walked.

There were people behind him, following him. Slowly, he began to walk a little faster. They followed him.

His breath was beginning to rasp in his throat. They were still following him. He could hear them whispering, right behind him.

Suddenly, he stopped. He was dreaming. This was a dream. A nightmare, but though he hated and feared his nightmares, he’d had so many recently that he had started realizing that they _were_ nightmares, while he was still in them. Which wasn’t something that had happened before. Normally he had to wake up in a cold sweat first.

He heard them discussing in a low murmur. “Foolish boy… ignorant boy… Don’t you know what happens when you stop?”

“I am not your plaything,” he said to the darkness. “Frak off and torment someone else.”

Mocking laughter was his only answer; then they launched at him, indistinct spectral shapes latching on to him – passing through him – and suddenly he was in actual, physical pain, so intense he could barely breathe. Th-this wasn’t allowed! It was a dream! It should wake him up!

“There are no rules in dreams,” came the mocking whisper.

He tore himself away from them and ran, stumbling over his feet in the darkness. The pain lessened, but persisted, that dull ache in his bones now a cold fire that was burning him from inside. There was no escaping it, no matter how he flailed and struggled. And still they pursued him. No matter how fast he ran, they were always right behind him.

“You think you have won a respite.”

“You think you can assert authority over us.”

He ground his teeth with frustration. “I did! I _did_! Go away!”

“You won a battle… the war is still upon us.”

“And it will be ours.”

Despair tore through him. They were bound to him. He couldn’t outrun them, no matter how he tried. He might as well have been running in place. His feet were so heavy, his body was heavy, but if he stopped, he would die. They would catch him and tear him apart and he would die.

He needed help. There was no way he could fight them on his own. “Ashara,” he gasped out, then louder. “Ashara!”

She was there before him, in the distance, and he ran towards her, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking in his chest. “Ashara! Please!”

She turned to him, and she had no face.

He stumbled to a halt, a cold spear of terror piercing him to see that… that _thing_ standing there, watching him without eyes. Silently, it fell over like a puppet with cut strings.

He fell to his knees, but there was no ground beneath them, and he tumbled, into a starless void, into dark, cold, outer space. He tried to scream and there was no air-

Then he felt real hands on his shoulders and woke to find himself in Ashara’s arms.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked how they just _handed_ you a fleet in the game, and so late in the game, too. It always felt too easy and improbable. So… let’s go work for that fleet, guys! (I also didn’t like how Xalek joined the party late enough that he felt incredibly extraneous, so hi, creepy-pants, welcome to the team)
> 
> I hadn’t expected Pyron to take over the POV so thoroughly, but it works, so I’m happy! This story arc is actually really complicated. Probably too complicated to fit in a videogame, particularly an MMO? I hope it works for you!
> 
> [Fun video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFkvNCKC3cU) someone made of Inquisitor storyline funny bits! I like the comment someone made: “Who would win? the galaxy or one zappy boi” (Also the Inquisitor’s VA is Scottish, no wonder I swoon for that voice)

Part 22: Virus

“Well that was intense,” Ashara said as he gasped for air he didn’t need. Her voice was low – it was still the middle of the night, and she sounded sleepy – but playful. Trying to pull him out of the nightmare. “You okay?”

“H-how did you know?” How had she known he wanted her? He put out his hand, patting at her in the dark. Yes, she had a face. Her closed eyelids twitched against his fingertips and he felt her lips curve against his palm.

“Gee, after the way you reached out, I’d be surprised if everyone on the ship didn’t know.”

“Wait, slow down. What did I do?” He was using his power while unconscious? That was… not great.

He sensed Ashara’s smile fade. “I felt you call out through the Force in my sleep. It was so insistent, so desperate, I was halfway to your room before I was properly awake. And once I realized what was going on, you bet I hurried on over. It felt like you were silently screaming again, like you wanted to wake up but you couldn’t.”

He rolled away from her, a bit embarrassed. “Most awkward booty call ever,” he mumbled into his pillow. _Disgusting. Cease your inappropriate banter_.

For some reason, she found that hilarious, even if her ancestor didn’t, giggling uncontrollably for several minutes.

“I didn’t actually mean that,” he said, turning back to her, still awkwardly shy. “Er. But. Would you stay?”

“Tonight?” She snuggled closer, taking hold of his arm and hugging it close to her.

“E-every night,” he stammered, trying to ignore that his elbow was in the vicinity of her breasts, hoping Kalatosh wouldn’t give him a migraine for _her_ actions. “I’ve been trying to bear it alone, but I can’t. The nightmares are… I haven’t had nightmares like this since I was a sniveling acolyte.” Which, in the grand scheme of things, hadn’t been very long ago. Bare months since he’d been a raw, scared little slave. Which was crazy. On the plus side, she wouldn’t slap him if he started screaming, like the senior acolytes had. Probably. _She might slap you because women slap the men they think they own_. “Shut up. …Not you. Them.”

“I’m sure you weren’t sniveling. I can’t imagine that.”

“All acolytes are sniveling. It’s like Hutts are slimy. …Please?”

She hesitated a breath. “Yeah, I can stay with you.”

“I-I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Even though he wanted to – his hormones demanded it, loudly and frequently – if her ancestor started acting all ‘protective older male’ over her it definitely wasn’t worth trying.

She giggled. “Well, I’m not worried about it at all now that you said that! Although I mean, come on, it’s me – aren’t you worried about me touching _you_?”

“That’s not a ‘worry’,” he said drily, trying not to let on how his hearts quickened. “I’d settle for being able to rest, personally.”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him. “Then try and sleep. I’ll be right here, ready to wake you from anything they try on you.”

But he was too keyed up to sleep just yet, and even her warm embrace couldn’t relax him instantly. Breathing slowly was doing nothing for him when his eyes didn’t want to close, staring up at the dark ceiling.

She sensed it, perhaps, or maybe she was just curious; “Hey, what would you have been if you hadn’t become a Sith? I think I know the answer but I was wondering.”

“I would have settled for ‘not a slave’,” he answered morosely. “No, these days I want to be an archaeologist, but if I hadn’t discovered it… I don’t know.”

“I get that,” she said. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about recently. I’ve been trained to be a Jedi practically from birth. But being with you, I’m questioning a lot of things. I’m much more in touch with my emotions now, for example.”

“Huh?” he said, rather rudely. “But you have so many more of them than I do.” More variety, at least, and she didn’t keep them locked down like he did. “You don’t seem particularly repressed.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘repressed’,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s a different way of looking at the world. We’re not supposed to let them take over, that would be foolish – and it’s something I struggle with.”

“It’s foolish to ignore them. The mind, the body, the emotions, if you don’t understand all of them, you don’t understand yourself.” _Do you understand your own, foolish boy? You can hardly lecture on this matter_.

“Mind and body I understand, but emotions?” Ashara made an uncomfortable noise into his shoulder. “Emotions get me in trouble and I spend a lot of time wishing I had less of them, even now that I’m starting to understand them better. Like, hear me out: my body tells me that fire burns when I put my hand in it, and then my mind remembers so I don’t put my hand in the fire again. What do emotions do beyond that? Everything useful’s been taken care of.”

“So you don’t think it’s useful to make an emotional judgement call on ‘hand in fire bad’?” he asked snarkily. “Possibly to extend to warning other people not to stick their hands in fires?”

“So empathy and compassion, huh? I guess those aren’t just intellectual, are they? But there are other emotions too, and they’re not nearly as good.”

“If you’re talking about the ones that fuel the Dark Side, every biological being is going to fear and hate and feel anger. You can’t get away from that. And assigning a blanket moral judgement to them, is that useful?” His voice was snippy; he was getting emotional about a discussion about emotion. How irritating. _She will never understand what strength is for, for she has very little of the sort that matters_.

She huffed quietly. “I suppose some of it depends on context and circumstance. I just wish _I_ felt less of them. Which is why I’m wondering if emotions are useful in the first place – useful, not good or bad. I know I said the word ‘good’! I take it back. Look, I didn’t want to start an argument or anything.”

Was hatred ‘useful’? He didn’t know. He was tired and plaintive. “Emotions let you fall in love. Isn’t that enough…?” _Bah-!_

She abruptly chuckled, releasing all the tension. “Well, when you put it that way… You do make me happy.”

“You make me happy too,” he said. “Let’s make the whole galaxy jealous.” Especially the sputtering noises in his head. He had some work to do to get there, though.

She giggled. “Sure thing. Now try and sleep, okay?”

He nuzzled further into her embrace and felt himself relax, finally. Her warmth was seeping into him, rendering him drowsier. He wasn’t afraid to sleep with her beside him.

He hoped that would last.

When he woke again, he felt pretty well rested – and vaguely alarmed. There was someone next to him-

He looked over and saw orange and white and blue, and calmed immediately. And then smiled. She was sprawled haphazardly, one arm reaching up over her head, one foot sticking off the bed, lekku tangled over her chest, and drooling.

Gods, she was beautiful. And she was only wearing a tank top and shorts, showing all that smooth tangerine skin…

He pulled his thoughts away before his parasites could interfere, checking the chronometer instead. It was nearly time to get up anyway. Ought he to wake her?

He was up and halfway dressed before she stirred. “Hnn… mmf… Whachoo!”

“Please don’t get me physically sick in addition to my mental sickness,” he told her as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and her nose.

“’m not,” she mumbled sleepily. “’s dusty in here.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll let the droid clean a bit. Did you bring clothes?”

“No? I just came over, all my stuff is still in the dorm.”

“You should bring them in,” he said. “There’s enough stowage space for you. I can move the tablets and holocrons.”

She smiled and flapped her hands a little. “Hooray!”

“You’re really out of it this morning, aren’t you?”

“It always takes me a minute or two. Especially when I wake up in someone else’s bed.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Aren’t you normally grouchy in the morning yourself?”

“Yes, until the second cup of caf. But I woke up with someone in my bed, so…” He couldn’t restrain the shy grin. _Oh, just wait until she’s had enough of you whining about us and wants to move out again_ … He twitched the annoying intrusion way.

She giggled. “But you didn’t stay to cuddle! C’mere.”

“I’d rather not start the day with a migraine,” he said, but moved into range of her arms anyway.

“Right, fair enough.” She kissed him on the cheek, which was not nearly enough now that he’d let himself anticipate more, and got up to move towards the door. “I’ll go get my stuff! See you at breakfast!”

He was at a café table in Vaiken Spacedock, reading the most recent reports on his datapad, when a familiar presence loomed over his. “Look who we have here. Lord Kallig.”

He looked up. “Lord Volkova.”

“Oh, that’s old news,” Akuliina said, looking pleased with herself. She wore too much make-up – she always had, with the dark red lipstick and the intense black and red eyeshadow, but it was particularly obvious to him now, after living with Ashara who used… like… lip balm. She leaned against his table with a hand on her hip, clad in combat-ready scarlet, exuding arrogance and sophisticated confidence. It made him jealous, how comfortable she seemed, how… _happy_ she seemed to be with herself. With her life.

“And completely predictable,” he said. Sure, her promotion had been a while ago, and it hadn’t impacted his life much, but he’d at least heard about it. Eventually.

There was an imperial officer hovering unobtrusively behind her, tall, pale, dark-haired, and stiff, and he frowned at him. “Aren’t you the man who helped me catch a colicoid?”

The officer coughed lightly, blushing slightly pink. “I did, my lord. I’m surprised you remember.”

“Hard to forget the one sensible man on the planet,” Murlesson said drily. Him and Captain Ilun, to be fair. _You should have tried to claim his allegiance. Too late now._

“Quinnnn, you never told me about that!” Akuliina drawled gleefully, rounding on her… captain, he had been promoted since Murlesson had last seen him, if his rank cylinders were anything to go by. “That’s hilarious. What was it for?”

“I needed to get into a Sith shrine under a toxic waste dump, and there were no drones of sufficient quality to scout the area.”

“Lord Kallig controlled the creature’s mind to do his bidding,” Captain Quinn said.

“It was time-consuming, tiring, and ultimately I probably could have accomplished my goal without doing it anyway. But it is possible to do.” _Surely you knew Freedon Nadd did the same once? You didn’t? So focused on Naga Sadow, it’s embarrassing_.

“Enchanting,” Akuliina said, amusement rolling through her voice. “Then I suppose you need no introductions. What brings you to Vaiken, Murlesson? I wouldn’t have recognized you in that hideous mask but for your Force signature. And even that’s changed.”

He shrugged. “Thanaton is a prick. I have to wear this to keep the voices in my head down.”

She could probably tell he wasn’t joking even though it sounded like he was joking. “You really are cracked.”

“I prefer ‘differently rational’.” The old joke floated back into his memory, jogged by Quinn’s vaguely familiar face. Not that Quinn would know the joke. “What brings you here?”

“Resupply,” she said breezily. “Just got back from eliminating some traitors on Quesh, heading to Hoth next.”

“Good luck with the cold,” he said sardonically. “I was there a short while ago.”

“You survived, so will I. Is Laskaris around? You used to go everywhere together, didn’t you?”

“Not at the moment,” Murlesson said. He actually wasn’t quite sure where Aristheron was, since he wasn’t relevant to the particular reports he was studying. Something about the Euceron system and suspicious Republic activity in the area…? “To answer your question, I’m here to catch the latest military gossip. I’m sure I’ll be adding to it in a couple weeks. Assuming Thanaton doesn’t find me first.”

“Sounds exciting,” she said idly. “I never really cared much for Thanaton, myself. I’ll keep an ear out for your activities.”

He nodded. “And I you.”

“Come along, Quinn.” She sauntered away, her officer trailing her respectfully.

His comm went off. He checked both ways before answering it.

It was Revel. “You’re getting a call from that skeezy Harkun fellow. Want me to take it?”

“I’ll be right there.” Had his acolytes completed their final trial?

He made it to Korriban within a day. He was even more guarded this time. Thanaton wouldn’t be lax anymore, and he might have found out that one of these acolytes – even if they were slaves and so beneath his notice – was being groomed for Murlesson. He kept his power wrapped tightly about himself, skulking in as unnoticed as possible.

He appeared in the door of Harkun’s office like a ghost himself, silently and without warning. Harkun actually jumped to see him. “My lord, you are just in time. The acolytes should be returning shortly.”

He hunched further into the room. “You started without me?”

“There was no point in making you wait,” Harkun said, fairly reasonably. “I will say, there’s something vaguely unsettling about bone-face. He’s hardly said a word. But he’s got a determined glint in his eye. Reminds me of you.” _Insolence! Punish him, why don’t you. You’ve always wanted to_.

Murlesson refrained from reacting. If the Kaleesh – he’d looked up the species – was determined, great. If he had any head for lore and philosophy, even better.

It was several hours before anyone came back. For a while Murlesson idly wondered _if_ anyone was coming back. But he refused to go to any guest quarters, so he lurked in the corner of Harkun’s office with a datapad, still absorbing military information. Harkun continued his own work, pretending this arrangement didn’t bother him immensely.

The Twi’lek, Seferiss, arrived, dusty and panting, holding out a stone covered with intricate carvings. “Overseer, I’ve returned with the carving, as you requested.” Murlesson felt his interest pique in spite of himself. That was a nice-looking artefact, shades of Force-laced memory clinging about it. Zash might be on to something. He just hoped she was right about it holding a solution.

“Ah, there you are,” Harkun said. “It looks like I was wrong, but so much the better. My lord, may I present to you your apprentice.”

Someone with a simmering Dark aura cleared his throat in the doorway, and they all looked to see the Kaleesh, Xalek, standing there.

“You’re not dead,” Murlesson said without much surprise. _Yes, that is much better than this subservient slug. The ‘subservient slug’ clearly has superior artefact-finding skills, though. Doesn’t this boy like that? We’ll have to see who wins_ …

“Ah, bone-face,” Harkun said. “But you didn’t get the artefact.”

“Xalek,” said Xalek. His voice was cold and deep, and Murlesson might have been intimidated if he had been a fellow acolyte instead of a galaxy-weary Lord with several times as much power. But he still had to remind himself of that fact first.

“Hm?” Harkun blinked at him.

Xalek walked forward with the deliberate grace of a predator, stopping next to Seferiss. The Darkness within him was swelling, not quite under control, the simmer rising to a seethe. “My name is Xalek.”

Without warning, he struck Seferiss full in the face, savagely, several times. Harkun jumped forward, but it was too late – the Twi’lek fell to the floor, his skull shattered, already dead. Murlesson raised an eyebrow. The Kaleesh had great physical strength… and great daring. And liked taking shortcuts. _Ha! I was right. This one is better. Ugh, fine, you have won… this time_.

Xalek picked up the carved stone, which, fortunately for him, hadn’t broken when Seferiss dropped it, and held it out to him. “Your carving, my lord.”

Harkun’s eyes blazed. “Slave scum. Did you not listen to the rules of this Academy? You do not murder another acolyte! And in the presence of witnesses!” He turned to Murlesson. “I’m sorry, my lord. It seems I’ve failed to teach this miserable dog a single lesson. I will let you know when a new shipment of slaves arrives.”

Murlesson pulled himself out of his hunch to his full height. “No.”

“He murdered an acolyte in the presence of-”

“I know, I was there,” Murlesson said drily.

“He’s a slave. Tradition demands he be executed!” Harkun roared. “I’ve put up with a lot around here. Training low slaves into Sith Lords. But if the rules of subterfuge and skill give way to blind murder, then the whole Empire is doomed! _You_ were better than that!”

Murlesson let his aura expand slowly, filling the room with his own terrible power, inadvertently making the lights flicker. What did he care if the Empire was doomed? He could kill Harkun. _Kill him, tear him apart with our power!_ He could kill Harkun right now, and no one could stop him, and he’d have revenge for much of the torment he’d gone through on this planet – but that was a waste of his time and energy. Harkun wasn’t worth the effort. A tiny, whinging worm in the grand scheme of things, a weakling so ineffective he was sent to babysit the lowest of the low. Still, he ought to mete out _some_ punishment. Maybe it was a little petty, but Harkun was petty.

He controlled himself. “Sith tradition is as old and crumbling as those tombs outside. I don’t have time to wait. I can use a ruthless killer… but don’t worry.” He looked over at the Kaleesh. “If you have no other skills, you won’t last long. Do you understand?”

“Yes, lord,” Xalek said evenly.

“Darth Thanaton will hear about this!” Harkun cried.

Murlesson’s hackles rose and a ceiling light exploded with a crackle of electricity. How _dare_ he threaten him with Thanaton. “Did you give Zash this much lip too? You did, didn’t you? What makes you think I’m any more forgiving than she is?”

Harkun must have sensed that he’d finally stepped much too far. “My lord-” If he didn’t sense it, he did as soon as Murlesson tensed his fingers; he began to clutch at his throat, forced to his knees.

“Of all the slaves you supposedly trained into Sith Lords, I’m the only one still alive.” He’d looked it up out of curiosity once. “The rest were as disposable as Sith as they were as slaves, weren’t they? I didn’t succeed because of you, Harkun, but in spite of you. You’re not nearly as important as you think you are.”

“Gllk-” Harkun was trying desperately to defend himself, but even if he’d allowed him to speak, he wouldn’t have heard him over the voices cackling in his head, the dark wind roaring in his ears.

Murlesson was past caring. “Should have gotten a hobby that encouraged you to talk back to your superiors less, hmm? I can’t believe I’m the one to kill you. What a shame. You’ll never see me break Thanaton now.”

Harkun’s lifeless body fell to the floor, and suddenly, drained of his cold rage, he felt very tired, all his aches settling back into place. “Well, come along,” he said to Xalek, letting himself slump back into his pained hunch. Logically, Thanaton wouldn’t give a druk that he took an unconventional apprentice. It would only confirm his hatred of him.

“My eyes are on you, lord.” Well, that wasn’t creepy at all. Had he ever been that creepy as an acolyte? His personality was different. His own creepiness was tempered with sarcasm and depression.

Oh, Xalek was so not going to fit in on the ship. Ashara would not be happy.

He would have to, somehow, or Murlesson would kill him himself and go without, no matter what Zash said.

“I don’t suppose Harkun bothered to teach you anything useful, like the Sith code?” Murlesson asked on the shuttle back to the Viper.

“Kill, or be killed,” Xalek said simply, and with finality.

“That’s your entire philosophy? I’m going to have to teach you everything,” Murlesson said, and sighed. What had this man spent his training on? Pumping iron? “Any animal can do that.”

“I am Kaleesh,” Xalek said. “We are warriors.”

“A warrior without wisdom is a brute and a barbarian,” Murlesson said sharply. “A Sith without wisdom is dead.” _For once, you said something almost clever_.

Xalek paused for a moment. “Command me, and I will strike, my lord.”

Murlesson stared at him through his mask. The man’s laconic speech made it difficult to converse meaningfully with him, and he didn’t want to end up monologuing, he might expose too much of himself. “That will do for now.”

 _Didn’t you kill_ your _master?_ voices hissed in his ear. _What sort of punishment should be dealt to such a one? Would it not be delicious if your apprentice were to come to kill you?_

He rapped his head on the side of the shuttle, ignoring Xalek’s stoically curious glance.

“He’s creepy,” Ashara whispered to him in bed that night. “I’m glad I moved in here like three days ago, because holy nerfs I would not be able to stand being in the dorm with him. I don’t know how the guys deal with it. I really feel bad for Talos, he’ll eat him alive.”

“It will be fine,” Murlesson told her. Wondering how inconvenient it was for her to be the only female on the ship in general. Zash didn’t count. “If he acts out against the rest of you, I punish him. Except I know that’s not what you’re fussing about.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “There’s a huge, vast, massive gap between ‘being so creepy and silent that I’m afraid he’s going to attack me’, and ‘being standoffish and grouchy but still a team player’ like, say, Khem is.”

“Khem’s only that way because I beat obedience into him when we met, and his strange sense of honour means he follows the last person to kick his arse.”

“You mean you earned his respect and now he tolerates everyone because you like us so we count as extensions of you,” she retorted. “Anyway, I’m scared of Xalek, frankly.” _She wants everyone to be friends and hold hands and care for each other. Pfa! No one does that_.

He sighed. “I’m not sure what to do about that. All I _can_ do is see how much he already knows, start trying to educate him… and see if he’s receptive to working tactically. I liked his strategy in getting the stone-” which Zash had been very pleased to get, even if Murlesson wasn’t going to have time to check it out himself for ages “-but if that’s the extent of his scheming I’ll be very disappointed.”

“Well, thanks for letting me bunk in here. I help you feel safe, you help me feel safe.”

“Funny, even though we’re so diametrically opposed.”

“And we get to watch more holos together.” They were several episodes in on a dumb action comedy called Girls Just Wanna Have Guns; Ashara was loving it but when there weren’t any explosions he fell asleep in the middle of it. Which was a win, given how much he needed sleep.

He hadn’t told her yet, but he had gone back and finished that other movie, the emotionally manipulative one. It had a cheesy happy ending; it was entirely understandable why she liked it so much. He’d just been… unprepared for its emotional manipulativeness. And he had no wish to watch another one in a hurry. Fortunately, there were many other holos by other studios in the galaxy.

He yawned. “I just hope he isn’t too much of a distraction when I go to… do… the things…”

She patted his head as he drifted off. “Night night.”

Valion Pyron, Admiral of the 44th Imperial Fleet, had retired to bed half an hour prior in his quarters on board the flagship Acrimonious, but it was difficult to sleep, as it often was these days. Older men – not that he was _old_ , but he certainly wasn’t in his prime anymore – needed their rest, yet Moff Jovakor Bilsane’s actions made it difficult. Wondering yet again how he could justify this to his grandchildren. ‘Only following orders’ was a poor excuse, yet his hands were well and truly tied. At least the Silencer was not yet complete, and with any fortune would never be…

There was a faint crash and a thump from the outer room of his quarters, and he stiffened, sitting up in bed and listening hard for more movement. Was it just him, or did the darkness seem darker now? It was impossible. There was no light in his quarters once the lights were out. No viewports to let in the ambient glow of the stars, and very few, very dim pilot lights. He usually preferred it that way. So it would be difficult for pitch blackness to get _darker_.

But what was that he heard? Dead silence, then – a shuffle, and a snarled curse under the breath. “You stupid… Could you have picked a worse kriffing time to interfere-” Pyron was about ready for a ‘what the hell’ himself, but that wasn’t very dignified for an Admiral, so he got up, put on his dressing gown, and turned the lights on in the outer room.

There was a young man, a boy – his slender, lanky, broad-shouldered frame gave his youth away – sitting on his kitchenette counter; one of the kitchenette stools lay knocked over nearby. He was dressed in long, inky black hooded robes, boots and gloves, and a strange, skull-like mask, and had a large lightsaber hanging from his belt. “Hello,” said the boy, in a startlingly deep voice. “Admiral Pyron, I presume. I was going to knock, but the voices in my head made me trip.”

Pyron blinked. No, ‘what the hell’ would not have cut it, if he were in the habit of using it in the first place. “May I ask who you are, sir?” The lightsaber meant probably Sith, and there was no point in annoying a Sith who had evidently made it _into his private quarters_ completely undetected before… tripping over a stool.

“Murlesson Kallig, Lord of the Sith,” the boy said. “You may have heard of me, or you may not. I’m here to make you an offer.”

Pyron narrowed his eyes. He had heard of Kallig, but only vaguely, and recently – an impudent upstart, he had the idea, and had not looked beyond that. Playing games with Sith was a good way to get killed quickly. Then again, so was refusing them, especially with young, potentially-hotheaded ones. “What sort of offer, my lord?”

“Promotion, for you,” said the Sith – Kallig. “You’ve been recommended to me by Lord Laskaris.” He’d heard plenty of Laskaris, at least – a brilliant young Sith Lord poised to lead the 23rd fleet to glory in the next war. “From his endorsement, and my own inquiry, I understand you graduated with flying colours from the Military Academy of Ziost, had an unremarkable but successful early career, more recently serving with distinction in the Great Galactic War, particularly in the Seswenna Campaign, where you were promoted to became the youngest admiral to serve in the Imperial fleet. You are a competent, efficient, and honourable commander respected by his subordinates… with an unmistakable hunger for victory.”

“That is consistent with what appears in my record,” Pyron said, picking up his kitchenette stool. “May I sit down?”

“Please,” Kallig said, gesturing. He lowered his voice to a rasping hiss. “I also know you’ve stagnated since then, that Moff Bilsane was your rival until he was promoted faster for his ruthlessness and had you transferred to his command for the ego trip, and that Imperial High Command holds you back out of jealousy of your abilities and fear of his. I know how many systems the 44th has terrorized for Bilsane’s profit, including the Cassander system, the one we’re in right now, and how he’s used your competence to get away scot-free… so far. I know about the incident on Qat Chrystac, and the massacres on Barkhesh, and how you fret under his yoke. I will destroy him and give you his job… in exchange for your service.”

Pyron felt a cold shiver run down his back. This Sith had dug far too deep into his past, into files he’d thought locked forever. This was looking more and more like a situation in which he would not be able to say no, if he valued his life and what was left of his honour. “I’d like to inquire about the catch.”

Kallig nodded. “The catch is that I don’t like Bilsane’s boss. And his boss doesn’t like me. So this could in fact be very dangerous for all of us. But I’ll have you know I have no interest in grandstanding around impoverished systems, exhorting bribes from illiterate morons and bombing those unable to pay. Such petty acts have no amusement for me. The larger picture is all that matters to me – and the details that lead directly to my goals.”

Bilsane’s patron was Darth Thanaton of the Dark Council. This boy was fighting _Thanaton_. _That_ was how he’d heard of him, of course, he’d forgotten. He was either very brave, very stupid, or very unlucky. Or very lucky, to still be alive. And to be dragged into such a high-profile conflict… for surely it would be high-profile once the 44th got involved… could be literal suicide, not only career suicide. And he didn’t know anything about Kallig, what he wanted besides fighting Thanaton, what he’d been doing up until this point, his plans, his temperament. His word was not much to go on, especially considering his youth. It would be difficult to be a worse superior than Bilsane, but one didn’t take bets with Sith either. “And what is the larger picture for you, my lord?”

“At the moment, survival,” Kallig said drily. “Which coincides with Thanaton’s complete and utter destruction. After that… the study and preservation of Sith history.”

Fascinating if true, though he failed to see how a fleet would aid in the second endeavour. “May I ask how you made it in here, by the by?” he asked, stalling.

Kallig shrugged. “I walked. No one ever bothers to notice me. Because I tell them not to.”

“With the… with the Force?”

“Yes, of course. I can hardly make a personal call to your bridge without Bilsane butting his oversized head in.”

“Where did you dock your ship?” For he couldn’t have teleported onto the Acrimonious.

“Elsewhere,” Kallig said, as if he didn’t know or care. “I stowed away on one of your supply shuttles, of course.”

He felt like that ought to be below the dignity of a Sith Lord, but it had been effective, so who was he to question Kallig? He had not worked directly with many Sith, but he’d wager a guess that very few of them could simply walk past all this security, the guards and cameras and locked doors, even with their mystical powers, even if they wanted to. He supposed he should count his blessings that Kallig wanted to, instead of simply creating a large bodycount like many Sith did.

“So… would you like to become the Moff that you’re overdue to be, answering only to me and High Command, and possibly being required to fight against the 43rd and the 58th?” Thanaton’s other fleets. For of course Thanaton would not allow his… new rival to steal one of his own fleets unopposed.

“I-I really must think on this,” Pyron said. “Forgive me, my lord, but I do not trust you. Not yet.”

Kallig tilted his head. “Wise. Never trust Sith.”

“But to engage in a conspiracy – a mutiny – I cannot. My honour as an Imperial officer will not allow that.” Of course, it shouldn’t allow him to continue serving Bilsane, either. Caught between a Sith and a hard place. “And you lack Imperial connection.”

“You will be my Imperial connection,” Kallig said. “With you beside me, and a proper display of patriotism, no one will doubt me. You’ll still be serving the Empire. And it’s not really a mutiny. Think of it as… I’m removing a problematic element from your environment, so you don’t build up any more of these other little spots on your record.”

The Qat Chrystac incident was hardly a ‘little spot’; it had only been covered up because the planet was so remote and useless no one cared. His public record was clean, but it was still on his conscience.

But this Sith was very good at saying what he wanted to hear. Which only made him trust him less. There was nothing but Kallig’s word that he would be able to cease this pointless slaving for a bully. “My lord… I do not doubt you…”

“Except you do, you’re just being polite about it because you’re afraid of me,” Kallig said bluntly. “Which is fine. I’m used to it. But may I continue to point out that for all _your_ good qualities, Bilsane is _not_ honourable. Or competent, or efficient, or respected by his subordinates, except for the ones that take after him. He depends on you taking the higher road to maintain his power.”

“That, and his supporters in Imperial High Command,” Pyron couldn’t help saying bitterly.

“That, you may leave to me,” Kallig said. “I have plans to cut him off from above. But I’d like your support to cut him off from below. Every moment you hesitate is another moment he uses you like a puppet.” He twitched oddly, once, and then went back to stillness.

“But…” He didn’t even know what to object to. He just knew that he did.

“I’m not asking you to stoop directly to his level,” Kallig said, with some youthful exasperation. “But your current tactics are not working. You can’t take him down solely through the established system, and you can’t take him down alone. He’s counting on that.”

“There’s one thing I must ask for, if I agree to work with you,” Pyron said, a little bit defiantly. “My family. He monitors them to ensure my continued obedience. I want an assurance that they will be protected from any reprisal.”

“Your family?” Kallig seemed to think for a moment. “I hadn’t expected that, but I suppose I’m not surprised he would do something like that. Very well. I’ll make a contingency. They’ll be safely out of the way before I take over. Or as I take over, to avoid tipping him off.”

Had he just _negotiated_ with a Sith Lord? And Kallig had agreed immediately, as if it were only natural and reasonable that a man be concerned for his family. Not something to be expected from just any Sith. “Very good, my lord.” He still had to think for a minute or two. Kallig sat on the counter impassively, not moving at all, watching him.

He’d been used too long, been party to too much; he wanted to believe in Kallig and his youthful idealism; he wanted to be a man again, upright and bold, not weary and beaten, to fight _for_ the Empire and the preservation of her justice and order. “If what you say is true, I’d be a fool to refuse you. Bilsane must be removed, and I have no love of Darth Thanaton. I will serve you.”

Kallig hopped off the counter. “Excellent. Then I will continue twisting High Command’s arms until they drop Bilsane like an overcooked tuber.”

Continue? He’d already begun?

Apparently his surprise had shown on his face, because Kallig said: “I was going to take this fleet either way. However, it’s much better for everyone if a steady man is ready to take the helm.” He hesitated. “And should I be unable, for whatever reason, to maintain control of you, I will hand you over to Laskaris. You will be protected from Thanaton and mutiny charges with him, unless Thanaton wants to piss off Darth Marr.” That was ominous, but Kallig made a snort at his own joke. “No one wants to piss off Darth Marr.”

“Should the rest of us survive so far,” Pyron said, and was surprised when Kallig chuckled deep in his throat.

“It’s funny because it’s true,” Kallig explained. “Which means it isn’t funny at all, is it? Oh well. Sith and slaves develop an odd sense of humour, I suppose.”

Pyron blinked. Was Kallig talking about himself?

“Anyway, let’s get to planning,” Kallig said, pulling out a datapad and tapping it. “I have the bones of a strategy, but naturally it would benefit from your knowledge of your own fleet. How many are likely to follow Bilsane, for instance, as I assume there’s more than a few bad eggs in positions to support him. I will also of course need the details on this family of yours.”

If nothing else, his prospective patron was much more intriguing than his current superior. Not that ‘intriguing’ was much comfort when he was contemplating betrayal of the highest order. Kallig had better be right about everything.

The next day was… interesting. Before leaving the night previous, Kallig had said something about ‘observing’. But Pyron hadn’t expected to see him sauntering the Acrimonious’s corridors as if he had every right to be there, instead of being a seditious intruder clad in most suspicious unmilitary garb. And to make matters stranger, no one seemed to notice him except Pyron.

It was difficult not to stare, while in the bustle of ensigns and lieutenants, but on the elevator up to the bridge, Kallig joined him, and no others did.

“What are you doing, my lord?” Pyron asked in an urgent whisper.

Kallig waved a dismissive hand at him. “Relax, Admiral. No one currently notices me except for you. Unless there are any Sith in your fleet right now.”

“There are not at the moment,” Pyron said. Thanaton did not have so many militarily-minded apprentices that there could be one operating all of his fleets, and Bilsane suited Thanaton well enough as a substitute. Perhaps another reason why Kallig had chosen them. Sometimes very low-ranked apprentices were dispatched to join the fleet as part of the infantry, but it hadn’t seemed Thanaton had required that in some time. He had held them back in favour of utilizing the 43rd.

Kallig tilted his head inquisitively. He was a bit taller than Pyron, but he stood and walked slightly stooped, as if he were in pain. “Then no one will detect me. Will it be a distraction for you? Would you like me to cloud your mind as well?”

Pyron scowled. “No, my lord.”

“Good. I prefer you to be fully alert. Now don’t say anything else, you’ll look strange talking to an empty elevator.”

Pyron couldn’t help darting a glance at the security camera in the corner. If Kallig could interfere with machines as well as crowds of people… it was no wonder he had managed to sneak into Pyron’s quarters in the early night. Clearly he was not to be underestimated. It should have given him confidence, but he was still wary of Kallig’s intentions. He hoped this subterfuge would end swiftly and for the better.

He was aware of Kallig’s presence constantly, a dark masked shadow leaning against the wall in the corner of the bridge, arms folded, watching everything. It put him on edge. Oddly, the bridge crew also seemed to be uneasy, though they surely had no idea Kallig was there, and even the lights seemed dimmer in that corner. Perhaps the Sith’s powers had side effects.

There was nothing for it but to act as he always did, which, since he was already acting to cover his displeasure with his orders, was not so difficult. Bilsane always arrived on the bridge exactly on time; if nothing else, he like to be punctual when ordering the 44th around to benefit his whims. “Admiral! Set course for Cassander, it’s time to pay a call on the governor.”

“Yes, sir,” Pyron said stiffly, and gave orders to the helm. And additional orders to the rest of the fleet, because this wasn’t simply a social visit.

Bilsane grumbled to himself up until they reached their position in orbit over the planetary capital, impatient with the laws of time and physics. “Comm! Transmit me to Governor Aldomarc at once!”

“At once, sir,” said Preslov on comm, blandly.

But there was a few moments of connection difficulties, and when the governor’s office flashed up onto the main viewscreen, blue and flickering, there was… no one there.

For a moment. Before Bilsane could do more than turn increasing shades of red, a door in the background of the image swished open and Governor Aldomarc rushed in, looking frightened. “M-my apologies, Moff Bilsane. I was in the refresher, and-”

“Shut up! No one wants to hear your useless excuses. Where is your contribution!?”

The governor made gesticulations and noiselessly opened and closed his mouth. Pyron kept his face professionally blank, but he was amused. Malicious compliance indeed, after being told to shut up. This governer was braver than he looked – not that appearances were any measure of any man.

Of course Bilsane wouldn’t just take that. “Speak!!” he roared, and Aldomarc flinched. “Unless you want a bomber squadron dispatched to your location immediately!”

“Y-yes sir! I-it’s… er, we have… well, not the entire amount requested, but-”

“You _dare_!?” Bilsane sputtered. “You will fulfill the requested amount or you’ll have more to worry about than bombers!”

“Y-y-yes, sir! B-but we – our budget – the hospitals – the schools-”

“Shut up, peon! All subsidized by the Empire! You _owe_ me your gratitude for protecting you!” His eyes bulged from his head. “Or are you shielding dissidents among you!? Must I purge your cities of rebel scum!?”

“N-no! We have nothing like that here! We’re loyal to the Empire, very loyal!”

“And yet you hesitate to grant the Empire its rightful due.” He nodded to Pyron. “It seems the governor needs some persuasion, wouldn’t you agree?”

He did _not_ agree, with anything, at all, but no one had asked for his opinion. He tightened his lips slightly and that was his only emotional reaction. “Infernal, Doombringer, stand by to execute maneouvre.”

The captains of the 44th’s two other largest Destroyers replied crisply, blank as droids. He knew they were of like mind to him. The captain of the Reprisal was less scrupulous, and unfortunately the Reprisal, though smaller, was one of the most heavily armed Destroyers in the fleet. If there were to be a split, the Reprisal could do a lot of damage. Even placing it next to the Implacable, one of the most heavily armoured Destroyers, would only mitigate some of it.

Such thoughts were only a distraction at the moment. He’d already told Kallig. Kallig had said he would figure something out. Right now he just needed to grit his teeth and stay professional. “Execute.”

Simultaneously, the two Destroyers emerged from hyperspace over Cassander’s two other largest cities and inserted into geosynchronous orbits. They’d been carefully positioned earlier, the fleet splitting up in the outer edges of the system. Perhaps that was when Kallig had infiltrated the flagship.

It took a few minutes, but it was a few minutes of blessed silence as Bilsane gloated over the look of increasing apprehension on the Governor’s face.

“Do you understand now!? Perhaps you thought you would be the only one punished for your defiance, Governor,” Bilsane growled. “But you are mistaken! Withhold anything, and your entire planet will burn!”

Which was massive overkill and almost wasted more resources than Bilsane gained in this completely unethical behaviour, but if it were to occur, the next systems would most certainly offer no resistance. It was so theatrical it sounded like a bluff, but Bilsane did not bluff. As for Bilsane… there would be an inquiry… and it wouldn’t find anything worth charging him with. Not with Thanaton’s protection over him.

Governor Aldomarc sagged in defeat. “Understood. We will prepare the entire contribution immediately.”

He couldn’t help wondering if Kallig would intervene at all. Couldn’t help hoping Kallig would intervene. This was beneath all of them, but especially the dignity of the Imperial battleships of the 44th fleet. _Really_.

Kallig didn’t move, watching silently from his corner, and Pyron consciously kept his gaze forward. He could not show signs of unusual behaviour that either Bilsane or his cronies would pick up on. He had to be patient until Kallig was ready to act. He just hoped it would be soon.


	23. Idealism and Cynicism

Part 23: Idealism and Cynicism

Kallig vanished off the ship at some point that day, and Pyron did not see or hear from him for eight days afterwards. He’d begun to feel abandoned – had the Sith decided the 44th wasn’t worth the effort? – but one evening he returned to his quarters to find the young man sitting in one of his chairs, reading one of his books. “My lord.”

“Admiral,” said Kallig, looking up in casual acknowledgement. “How is work?”

“Same as ever, my lord,” Pyron said blandly. Still unsatisfying, pointless, and degrading. And he waited, at parade rest, for Kallig’s next words, though he had to admit he was hoping he would fill him in on where he’d been.

Kallig sighed almost imperceptibly. “I can feel your curiosity from here. Yes, I visited High Command. Bilsane may not know it yet, but he’s about to find himself terribly exposed.” He paused for a minute. “It’s awfully tempting to simply stealth up to his room and murder him, but then no one will believe that I earned my right to command this fleet.”

“You simply visited…” Kallig did like to talk in riddles.

Kallig tilted his head sardonically. “Come now, Admiral. I can’t simply _tell_ you _all_ my plans. You can’t accidentally – or purposefully – betray me if you don’t know anything. Why are you still standing there? Sit down, have a drink.” A tumbler and a crystal decanter of cognac floated over from his counter at Kallig’s careless wave. Pyron sat across from him, trying not to look impressed as the glass poured itself, and accepted it. “But I can say, yes, I simply talked to High Command. Individually. With various persuasions. It’s not a big deal what I want, after all, is it? Just to let them know that Bilsane is not as valuable as they thought he was. Or what I had to offer them.”

That sounded like he really didn’t _want_ to know what had gone on, whether it was diplomacy, bribery, blackmail… mind control… or some combination thereof. Kallig was devious, for one so young. “Then we shall proceed as previously determined?”

“Yes, more or less. Though the more drama, the better – the Dark Council loves a show, even if High Command doesn’t.” He made an annoyed noise. “We’ll see if they’re a better audience than my usual one.” He flinched and grunted, as if in pain; his hands flexed into claws for a moment before relaxing again. “I wasn’t talking about you, shut up.” When Pyron blinked in confusion, he shook his head. “Not you either. _You_ may speak.”

Pyron suddenly remembered he had alcohol in his hand and took a sip. He had no love for drama, himself; battle was dramatic enough, and he burned to serve in that arena alone. But this was not the time to hold anything back from Kallig, even if something was a little… off. “Then I have something you may find useful.”

“What’s that?”

“The 44th has been working on a fleet-killer vessel; we’ve code-named it-”

“The Silencer,” Kallig said, and Pyron blinked in surprise. “Yes, I know about it. But thank you for telling me.”

That was supposed to be top-secret; only Bilsane, Pyron, and a couple of the other destroyer captains even knew the project existed. Truly, Kallig’s intelligence gathering was incredible – and terrifying.

“I’m pleased to know it exists, but at the moment it’s not done, so I can’t factor it into my plans yet.”

“Yes, we’ve been having trouble finding a good manufacturer for the targeting computer hardware,” Pyron said. “Which may be partly my fault.” A big gun was useless if it couldn’t be aimed accurately, after all, so he’d done everything he could in secret to block development. The particular type of chip required was illegal in the Republic, and only permitted under certain circumstances in the Empire. Bilsane couldn’t even vent in public about the problems with specifications and delivery, but he knew the rage was there, probably making his pre-existing behaviour even worse.

“I’ve already taken that into consideration,” Kallig said. “By the time Bilsane is out of the way, I’ll have the CN-12 ready. I’ve already put my research people on it.”

He supposed he oughtn’t to be surprised at Kallig anymore. That if he’d already learned of Project Silencer, he also knew of its problems and how to fix them. “I had a question, if I may.”

“Go ahead, Admiral.”

“You are intending to have me promoted to Moff, yes?” There was always the chance this was all an elaborate trap, and Kallig would dispose of him once he’d seized control of the fleet – but, no, his own record was too good for that, Kallig was no fool. The real fear was that he was falling prey to a bigger fish that he would be even more incompatible with. But only time would tell.

“Yes, of course. Go on…”

“Then as your… future subordinate, I’d like to inquire as to what you intend with the 44th.”

“A good question,” Kallig said, the skull-like mask regarding him contemplatively. “I can’t say too much, of course, but… beyond fighting Thanaton, assuming we all survive? I’m an ally of Lord Laskaris, and my becoming an active participant in the military would put us on an even footing. Laskaris and I work well together and I’d like to continue the relationship. With me as his strategist, and him as my captain, and our forces in concert, no one can stand against us.”

“You’re quite the idealist,” Pyron commented, after another soothing mouthful of cognac. Understandable, given his apparent age.

Kallig twitched indignantly. “I’m not an idealist. I’m a cynic.”

“They are not mutually exclusive, my lord.”

Kallig shrugged. Apparently it wasn’t worth arguing about to him.

“I believe you will make the Empire stronger and better,” Pyron said. If he went around eliminating men like Bilsane…

And Kallig laughed, a deep, dark, sad laugh with notes of utter desolation in it, his head in his hands, fingertips tense as if he were trying to press through the mask. But when he turned back to Pyron, his voice was normal again. “I’m glad you think so.” He hesitated, then shook his head and stood. “That’s enough for now. Let me give you your orders.”

“Yes, my lord.” Pyron stood as well.

“Without _seeming_ to incite mutiny, of course… ascertain that the captain of every ship in this fleet will follow you, and by extension, me, once the takeover occurs. Certainly I expect most of them will follow Bilsane’s orders while he is still alive… though they don’t yet know his orders aren’t worth the air they’re huffed on. I particularly need the Implacable and the Doombringer. Any dissent, no matter how insignificant the dissenter, inform me of. You have five days.”

Five days until his life changed.

Five days to speak, somehow, to every ship’s captain in a way that would not incite suspicion _and_ come to a tacit understanding without being able to explain. This was going to be complicated.

“All right, here’s the plan,” Murlesson said to his team on the Viper. His ship was docked on a space station orbiting Cassander; he had smuggled himself out of the Acrimonious easily and had a two hour window to smuggle himself back on again. “Drellik, Ashara, Xalek, you are going to Ziost to meet up with some allies I’ve sent there. If Bilsane is threatening Pyron’s family, he’s certainly got them under close surveillance, with forces in the area capable of following through.” Else Pyron would have moved them himself long ago.

“Hostages are only as good as long as you know where they are,” Revel said, nodding. _You really should make more use of them. They work wonders._

“I need you to set out immediately; it’s four days to Ziost. My allies will be there in one day so you can use their reconnaissance but I’ll still need some time to plan based on the intel you both gather.”

Ashara put up a hand. “Who are these allies and how do we meet them?”

Murlesson hesitated. “I suppose you could call one of them… an old friend.”

“Didn’t know you had _old_ friends,” Revel teased, and shrugged when Murlesson turned his mask in his direction. _That person is not a friend; he’s a simpleton who was kind to you briefly because you were so pitiful._

“What’s important is I’ve paid them enough to be trustworthy. I’ll give you their contacts before you leave. I’m giving you the Viper to get there; Ashara, you’re flying.”

“Got it!” She wasn’t the best pilot by her own admission, but all he needed was for them to get there in one piece, and she could handle a navicomputer. Which was more than Xalek could say, and Drellik wasn’t a pilot either. _Why would you trust your woman with your ship? She’ll destroy it. Never trust your mate, especially an impulsive one. Or your children…_

He talked over the senile family man babbling in his ear. “Your objective is to extract the family – wife, two adult children and spouses, and three grandchildren – simultaneously with my efforts to take over the fleet. Too early and Bilsane will be tipped off; too late and we lose the family – and Pyron’s support with them. Take them off-planet as quickly as possible; your destination doesn’t matter, as I’ll be done before you could reach another planet. Drellik, you’re the first point of contact, you’re an Imperial uniform and therefore easy for them to trust. They will have been prepared for your arrival.” It would be fantastic if the civilians did not turn out to be the fulcrum for the entire plan, but until he knew for certain, the more reinforcements he could place in the area without arousing suspicion, the better. Naga Sadow had often left little or no defenses on his bases while engaging in all-out attacks on his enemies. Murlesson’s bases were not in danger, but he was foregoing personal back-up in favour of the weak link in his plan.

“I understand, my lord!” Drellik said, smiling. “It helps that I’m not even slightly intimidating too, I suppose!” _He certainly isn’t. How I hate him!_

“What do we do with the family after?” Xalek asked.

“Return them home,” Murlesson said. Was that not obvious?

“Do you not wish to keep them under your control the way this Moff did?”

“Xalek!” Ashara said, shocked.

He thought it was a perfectly reasonable question. “I thought about it, but it’s not worth the effort.” Automated surveillance would be enough. Pyron was too honourable to doublecross him, but in the event that his trust were misplaced after all, he would have time to counter. In the present, he would settle for ‘proving himself better than Bilsane’. _You’re a fool, you should keep a tight hold of them. No one need know until it’s necessary to flex it. Because it will inevitably be necessary…_

“Murlesson!” Ashara turned her disapproval on him and he gave her a “what” gesture. Apparently she didn’t like the fact that he’d even _thought_ about it. What did she want from him!? She folded her arms, and he ignored her to continue the briefing.

“Khem, Revel, I need you here to infiltrate the fleet when the operation begins. You will ensure that the Implacable and the Doombringer follow my commands.”

< _They will obey or die,_ > Khem said.

“How will they know to obey you?” Revel asked. “It’s not like you have a ton of prestige in the military yet and while I can just shoot people until they start paying attention, I have the feeling you want something else.” _And now you’re relying on a pirate and a brute to enact military oversight._

“Pyron is taking care of that,” Murlesson said. “It’s risky; I don’t trust them yet, but he trusts them – or so I assume. I need them to be ready to neutralize the Reprisal in case her captain decides not to conform. But don’t tell them that until the last minute. I need to have to chance to prime them with noble words about not wanting to kill our Imperial brothers but the necessity being upon us.”

“That may be slightly melodramatic, but appreciated,” Drellik said.

“Melodramatic works,” Murlesson said, shrugging. _Melodrama is the hallmark of an immature Sith; it’s truly unfortunate they’re found at all levels of government nowadays. In my day, this would not work! In_ my _day we would have to kill everyone, and we liked it. Oh, how we liked it_. “Shut up, I’m not Volkova. Is everyone clear?”

“Yep,” Revel said. They all seemed to understand when he was yelling at the people in his head by now, thank frak.

“Ready to go!” Ashara said. “Get off my ship!” _How dare she order you, even in jest. Punish her!_

He snorted a short laugh, grunted in pain immediately afterwards. “Khem, Revel, we’re stowing away in supply shuttles. Ashara, I’ll get you that contact frequency.”

Pyron had spoken too soon on the complications of the situation. He arrived on the Acrimonious’s bridge the next day, Kallig ahead of him and already ensconced in the same corner he’d lurked in before.

He’d only been on station for an hour before there was a murmur from the back of the bridge, and he turned to observe the disturbance with detachment – intending to perhaps order the crew to quell the noise – and froze in alarm. There was a woman entering the bridge, a human woman all in black with a lightsaber on her belt. He couldn’t help his eyes flickering nervously to Kallig’s corner – Kallig was gone. That was good, at least. He didn’t know how and it wasn’t important.

“Huh,” said the woman, striding past him right up to the front viewport. “It’s not very impressive. This is going to be dull, isn’t it?”

She was a Sith, she’d walked straight past security as if she was supposed to be there, but there was nothing in his daily briefing about a Sith – there had been a report of a ship docking late the previous night, but the manifest hadn’t said anything about a Sith-!

She glanced at him. “What’s your problem? Admiral Pyron, wasn’t it?”

“Admiral Pyron, attend to your duties!” Bilsane snapped from further back.

“I’m _talking_ ,” the Sith said to Bilsane, who shut up in the face of the sudden shrill steel. That was a little bit satisfying.

“Ah, nothing is the matter, my lord.” He schooled his face back to professional blankness, tried to blank his mind as well. “I was simply not informed of your arrival, and I apologize for my lack of decorum.”

“Whatever,” she said, turning back to observe the fleet.

Then she turned back to him again. “Yeah, you seem weirdly agitated.” She smirked without any real emotion in it, pushing her hood back to reveal long straight black hair with a bright green streak on her left side. “What’s the matter, scared of Sith?”

Was it so strange to be unsettled in this situation? “If it’s not impertinent, may I ask your name, my lord?”

“I guess. Lord Cressinth, apprentice to Darth Thanaton, yadda yadda.” She sighed and examined her green-painted fingernails, picked at a hangnail. “He’s stationed me here since some kid might try and attack the 44th or something. I don’t know what he’s all worked up about, but I guess I’ll be in command until further notice. Isn’t that right, Bilsane?”

“Absolutely, my lord,” Bilsane said, in the most ingratiating way possible. “Lord Cressinth will be here indefinitely, so pay her your utmost respect!”

“Yeah, so, like, whatever. Even if this kid does show up, it’s not going to change much.” She yawned. “I guess I’ll try and have fun.”

Well… _now_ it was complicated. He was suddenly glad Kallig hadn’t told him much. He still had to arrange this mass briefing without Lord Cressinth looking over his shoulder.

But perhaps there was actually an opportunity there. Lord Cressinth might have handed him the very key to his little problem. “Lord Cressinth, Moff Bilsane, did you just say we are under threat of attack?”

“The danger is negligible, not with Lord Cressinth here,” Bilsane said. “We will continue operations as normal.”

Cressinth shrugged. “It’s just some kid. He’s, like, twelve. Sure, he hasn’t died _yet_ , and Thanaton’s really pissed about it, but even if he makes it here, that’s what I’m here for. He doesn’t have ships of his own, so relax, you’re not in any danger of having to fight for your lives in a space battle or anything.” She looked at him through half-lidded dark eyes that slanted slightly at the corners. “I guess he might try to replace _you_ , Admiral, and Bilsane’s already aware of the danger, but don’t worry about it. I’ll stop him.” Although somehow her attitude did not inspire confidence that she would be concerned if she failed.

“Kallig doesn’t stand a chance,” Bilsane put in.

“Kallig, my lord, sir?” Pyron asked politely. “Who is this Kallig?”

“Ugh,” Cressinth groaned. “He made Sith Lord a few months ago for, like, I dunno, finding some rare Sith artifacts. He actually blew up part of the Sith Sanctum a couple weeks ago trying to kill Thanaton, and we’re still not sure how he made it out again alive, but even if he’s strong in the Force, he doesn’t have much else to work with. He’s kinda weird, from what I can tell. He doesn’t do normal Sith things; he, like, hides out in caves and stuff. But Thanaton found out he’s been sniffing around the 44th, so here I am.”

“But he is a Sith Lord?” he inquired. “A twelve year old boy?”

“I might have been exaggerating,” she said. “But still young.”

“Pyron, shut up and do your job!” Bilsane barked.

Pyron inhaled and straightened, turning to face his superior. “With all respect, sir, I feel that the fleet ought to be made aware of this Sith. We can all be of service to Lord Cressinth in being fully vigilant against any threat he poses.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Cressinth said, waving at him. “Sounds good to me.”

Actually, it sounded like she didn’t care, but Moff Bilsane was now stuck trying to figure out how to interpret the situation.

Pyron didn’t intend to give him time to do so. “Then I shall go and arrange a briefing at once. By your leave, my lord, sir.”

“Hold on,” Cressinth said, still examining her nails. “I’ll come with you.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“It’s done, my lord,” Pyron said that evening, alone in his quarters with Kallig, who had been there when he arrived. It had been difficult to be subtle enough, concerned as he was with Cressinth’s potential ability to read his mind as she hovered nearby all day, but he’d harped on about ‘duty’ and ‘honour’ and ‘maintaining discipline no matter what’. Once things actually began to happen, those loyal to the Empire would remember those words and follow him. He’d managed to arrange one-on-one meetings with the captains of the Implacable, the Infernal, the Doombringer, and the Malevolence as well, and they were in grim accord with him. They would follow Kallig once he gave the word.

“Good,” Kallig said, but he seemed distracted. “That woman I didn’t foresee.”

“Will she be a problem?” Pyron asked.

Kallig shook his head, pacing in that hunched-over way he had. “I can take her out. It just means more drama, and like I said before, that’s a good thing. I’m leaving tonight to ensure preparations are complete, so you can stop wigging out whenever she walks into a room.”

He’d thought he’d hid his tension rather well, especially once he’d gotten over his surprise, but Sith were uncanny, and Kallig most of all. “I will try, my lord.”

Kallig wasn’t listening, perhaps, for some reason? “What the hell is your problem!? …I’d like to see you do better. If you hate it so much, you’re free to leave at any time… …Shut up. …Shut up!” He suddenly reeled to the side, slamming his head into the wall, leaving a dent.

Pyron lurched forward, a hand outstretched in alarm, trying to stop him, but Kallig was recovering… control, or whatever it was he’d lost for a moment. “Sorry. They’re being belligerent again. Usually I can ignore them pretty well…”

“The… voices in your head?” Pyron asked cautiously.

“Ghosts, to be completely precise,” Kallig wheezed, a hand still pressed against his head as if to dull pain through his mask. He looked sidelong at Pyron, and a mocking chuckle floated out between them. “You’re concerned about my sanity, aren’t you? Joke’s on you – I never had any.”

“My lord,” Pyron protested. Kallig seemed… mostly sane, though it was true this… episode unnerved him a little. Kallig really was very young. Young enough to be his grandson, although his actual grandchildren were still under the age of ten.

“Well, these are your choices now,” Kallig said sardonically. “Cruel or crazy. What’s your poison?”

“I’ll take my chances with you, my lord,” Pyron said. The safe option was to back out immediately, pretend none of this had ever happened, continue working under Bilsane and sink further into the muck of corruption and dishonour. But Kallig had given him too much hope to snuff it all out at once. And if he liked ‘safe’ he’d have retired already.

Kallig chuckled again. “Then you’re a little crazy too. Maybe that’s why I like you.”

This was getting very uncomfortable for him. “I prefer eccentric, myself. But I only hope to return to serving the Empire on the battlefield.”

“And I prefer ‘differently rational’,” Kallig said. “I’ll put that thirst for victory to good use, fear not. Now I must leave before she notices I was ever here.”

“Four days, then,” Pyron said.

“Four days.”


	24. Unnecessary Melodrama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use a lot of Disturbed when writing Murlesson; this chapter's boss battle theme is [Enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QM3PfYjEHEc).
> 
> Both Tharash and Yllamse were really helpful in helping me to hammer out the sequence of events here and getting them to fit with the emotional tones I was going for. Thank you!
> 
> It seems that Thanaton doesn’t actually make it to the Dark Council until you make it to Voss, not ‘shortly after you make it to Act 2’ as I had assumed. Pyron tells you about it after you get the CN-12 for him. But it changes literally nothing about the story to do it this way, except it makes it simpler for me.

Part 24: Unnecessary Melodrama

Four days could not pass fast enough. Lord Cressinth, though she maintained her detached demeanour consistently, prowled through the fleet, not confining her observations to the Acrimonious. She was constantly fiddling with a datapad, not even looking up at her surroundings, yet all the crew gave her a wide berth in case she should suddenly show her temper. For all her show of indifference, she was not a fond friend of boredom, and several men ended up in medical for no reason other than that they were available to be a target. Fortunately, none of them were injured more badly than a broken arm.

As for Pyron, the wait was an excellent test of patience. He knew the wait was to allow Kallig’s subordinates to arrive on Ziost. For him, that part of the plan was far more nerve-wracking than the relatively simple scheme to contain Bilsane, and he still didn’t know Kallig’s final strategy on the matter, which was a situation he didn’t exactly _like_. But, as Kallig himself had said, his ignorance would prevent him from accidentally giving it away to Cressinth. All he knew was that he had called his wife, informed her she must gather the children and grandchildren, and they would be meeting a Lieutenant Drellik in such a location at such a time, and that everything would be fine. All else was out of his control now. When he was Moff… that would change…

Despite his own patience being quite long, it was a relief when the bridge doors slid open one midday shift, the guards reacted, and were knocked backwards by an invisible blow, striking the wall hard enough to be knocked unconscious – he hoped they weren’t dead. Everyone either jumped or flinched; Pyron turned sharply but held on to his poise.

Kallig strode purposefully up the centre aisle to the command platform, showing no sign of pain now, robes billowing around him, lightsaber loosely held in his right hand but un…lit? Unactivated? A prickling sensation rose on the back of Pyron’s neck; there was a palpable energy in the air around him, dark and unsettling. “Hello, everyone. I’m here to take over.”

Bilsane was sputtering with bugged-out eyeballs, but Cressinth looked up from her datapad and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Oh good, you’re finally here. I thought you’d never show up.”

Kallig bowed sarcastically. “I aim to please. Shall we?”

Additional guards clattered in, rifles raised and ready, aimed at the intruder, but Pyron gestured for them to hold. Besides aiding in lessening the danger for Kallig, it lessened the danger for his men as well – Kallig would simply block or deflect their shots with the unbelievable reflexes common to Force users, and stray bolts could hit something or someone. For good or for ill, it was in the hands of the Sith now. The crew of the closest consoles looked to him, and he gestured that they were permitted to leave. He would not force them to remain within the line of fire needlessly, though now his own post was the closest one. He would stand firm. Some of them followed his example and remained; others hurried to the sides of the chamber, still present yet marginally more safe.

Cressinth dropped her datapad carelessly behind her, and her saber blades erupted from the double-ended hilt in a blaze of sickly green. Both Sith were crouched for battle, ready to move on a hair’s trigger. Pyron could taste the tension in the air, the seething animosity swelling to a deadly pitch. “You’ve fewer minions with you than I thought you might. What did I tell security to stand by for?”

“I don’t need them,” Kallig said. “None of you are worth the effort.”

Cressinth sneered. “Bring it, little boy.”

A lightning bolt arced from Kallig’s fingertips towards Cressinth, but she caught it on her lightsaber. Pyron was so taken aback by the impossible sight that he almost missed that Kallig had ignited his own scarlet saber and was charging towards Cressinth – or was he? It was… difficult to see… almost as if his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. The prickling feeling on the back of his neck was even stronger as the Sith clashed together with a harsh electronic buzz of contained plasma. He could not see Kallig’s face beneath his mask, but Cressinth’s face was unchanged, eyes half-lidded and mouth set solemnly.

“You pretend vainly to be calm,” Kallig said. “I know your true feelings. Why hide them? Just out of curiosity.”

“I’m aiming for the title Lord of Apathy,” she said. “Like, no one likes overlords who rant.”

“I prefer monologuing over ranting, personally,” Kallig said. “Isn’t apathy a Jedi trait? Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” He grunted as their sabers clashed and slid against each other. Even if he were no longer in pain, it seemed lightsaber combat did not come easy to him.

“I’m a living example of the Sith Code, then,” she said. “My peace is absolutely a lie.” She laughed without any change in expression.

Pyron’s console pinged: Taugel and Eisek, the captains of the Implacable and Doombringer, were checking in. Kallig’s representatives had arrived on station. He told them to stand by. The situation was not yet so chaotic that Bilsane would fail to detect the fleet breaking formation, and certainly Kirtyne, the captain of the Reprisal, would notice the Implacable closing in on his ship.

The battle before them was remarkable to watch, an incredible display of martial prowess. He had to focus to not be drawn in by the whirling blades of light, red and green darting through the air. He would be defenseless if they suddenly swung in his direction.

“Incoming transmission,” Preslov the comm specialist said, one of the few who had remained at his post, nervously bland.

“Put it through,” Cressinth ordered, parrying Kallig’s strike and spinning away. “I’ve been expecting a call…” The forward viewscreen flickered, and the two dueling Sith pulled apart long enough to look up at it.

The screen resolved into an image of a running light-fight turning a Ziostian city street into a warzone. The resolution blurred and tried to focus several times before finally clearing, showing them a small group huddled behind duracrete construction traffic barricades. There was a prim-looking lieutenant, a company of a dozen or so mercenaries, and chillingly, his family behind them, looking frightened out of their wits. The group was surrounded by a full squad of soldiers and commandos, keeping them pinned well down. A couple abandoned speeders sat in the middle of the street, repulsors destroyed and engines burning. He heard the sound of a gunship’s engine and saw a shadow pass over the street, heard Kallig hiss in consternation inside his mask.

“We have the targets cornered, Lord Cressinth,” said one of the commandos into the camera. “We’ll have them soon.”

“Good job, boys,” Cressinth said, allowing herself to smile slightly. “Carry on.”

“Pyron!” Bilsane frothed. “What is the meaning of this!? I should have known you would have something to do with this – this coup!”

Pyron remained silent. Anything he said now could make things worse. Inside, his blood had turned to ice. Either Kallig and his forces would find a way to salvage this, or his family would die, and he would kill himself to rid himself of the shame – or Bilsane would have him shot, which would amount to the same thing but with more humiliation. Either way, he needed to keep a clear head more than ever now. He tried not to look at his wife, at the uncomprehending fear on her face.

“I suppose you think you’re clever,” Kallig said to Cressinth.

“Of course I do,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not _dumb_. The weak point in all of this was Pyron’s family. Did you think _you_ were _clever_? You can kiss the civilians and your cute little lieutenant goodbye. I’m assuming even you don’t care about the mercenaries.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I can’t imagine you’d beg for their lives, but it would be funny if you did. I might even let them go if you did.”

Kallig growled, soft and venomous. “There are approximately six million forms of communication in the known galaxy and I cannot possibly find one that can express just how much I want to smash you through the viewport right now.” His empty fist clenched until the leather of his gloves squeaked, his whole body trembling with rage. A few drops of liquid fell from the glove, and Pyron swallowed as he realized it was blood. How…?

She snickered and began to walk towards him; he sidestepped as she swung. “Hold still!”

Kallig sidestepped again, leaning back against her strikes. “What horrible fate awaits me if I say no?”

“I’ll kill you _slowly_ , piece by piece, until you beg me to just stab you and end it. I know, cliché, but it’s so much _fun_.”

“Pfa. Get in line. You’re daft if you think I’m dying because you asked me to.”

“I guess you don’t really care for those _helpless_ innocents. Oh well, whatever.”

“You don’t know what that even means,” Kallig snarled passionately. “Any of it! You so-called Lord of Apathy, with your juvenile mannerisms… I’ll teach you what it means to be helpless, to have no pride left, to have anything you pretend not to care about ripped away from you!”

A whoop resounded from the comm, and an explosion, and everyone whipped around to see chaos explode across the Ziostian scene. One of the mercenaries had pulled out a rocket launcher and brought down the gunship; while most of his family was still cowering, he could see his older grandson grinning widely even as his mother tried to shelter him. The mercenaries were still cheering as a female alien Sith with twin sabers burst out of a side alley, jumping in front of the lieutenant protectively, yelling “Sorry I’m late!” A moment more, and the transmission ended.

Kallig didn’t waste an instant, lunging back into action against Cressinth with a hoarse scream.

“Those are _Mandalorians_!!??” Cressinth shrieked. “They didn’t tell me that!”

Kallig barked a vicious laugh as he parried her counterstrike. “And you thought I was _dumb_.”

Pyron caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Bilsane fleeing the bridge. He sent orders to other ships through his console, then turned, gestured to four of the soldiers still transfixed by the ferocious duel, and followed at a purposeful trot. Hope burned again in his heart, but he had something to deal with first. “Set for stun.”

Bilsane must have run in fear like he hadn’t run in years, because Pyron only caught up to him in the forward hanger, on the verge of stepping into a warming shuttle. “Moff Bilsane. I am placing you under arrest for extortion, unprovoked and unlawful assault of civilian targets, and dishonourable conduct unbefitting an officer of the Imperial Navy.” Emperor’s bones, he’d waited a long time to say those words. Certainly there were more he could say, but he didn’t want to be here all day.

“Pyron! You traitor! I should have you shot! You, arrest _him_!”

The soldiers hesitated, caught between the two highest points of authority in the fleet, and in that blink, Bilsane had drawn his sidearm and fired. Pyron felt a blow in his left bicep, spinning him halfway around before the pain registered. One of the soldiers caught him with a surprised yelp, and two of the others reacted, firing stun bolts into the shuttle, but they missed as the shuttle began to lift off, the docking ramp closing on Bilsane’s purple face.

“Sir!” cried the soldier helping him up. “Sir, you’re injured!”

He declined to respond sarcastically, though he was quite aware of the fact, clamping a hand protectively over the blaster wound. “Dispatch a medic to the bridge; I must return there at once.” Even if Lord Kallig lost the duel, Pyron would make sure that Bilsane never had another day to tarnish the honour of the Imperial Fleet. He was undoubtedly heading for the Reprisal; even if he made it there, he would not leave except in cuffs or dead.

He entered to find the duel still on-going. Both Kallig and Cressinth were reeling, panting, their robes both slashed with charred burn marks. Cressinth’s hair was disheveled, falling over her face, green strands sticking out, and her stoic facade was cracked, her lips curled in a disdainful snarl.

But Kallig – his mask had fallen, the hood with it – he was an alien! Pyron would never have guessed, had assumed him to be human, but no human had crimson skin and a crown of horns. His eyes glowed a baleful yellow in his heavily tattooed face, the shapes of the tattoos resembling a skull like his mask had.

Pyron only froze for a moment. Alien or not, a Sith was a Sith; he would be no less professional now that he knew.

“Where is Bilsane!?” Cressinth shrieked. “Tell me, traitor!”

Pyron nodded, but spoke to Kallig. “Moff Bilsane has fled, my lord. He will not be returning.”

“Then there’s no reason for me to hold back!” Cressinth hissed. She flung out her hand with a defiant cry, and for a moment nothing happened.

The six-inch-thick transparisteel forward viewport splintered briefly with a spiderweb pattern before shattering outward, out into the vacuum of space, and the atmosphere hissed as the ship began to depressurize. The emergency shutter began to close, and Cressinth ripped it away, dooming them all-! Pyron felt the tug of the wind grow to a violent yank, and he flung himself behind a console to avoid getting sucked out into space, but there was no making it back to the door for him.

Kallig swung around, and the door controls exploded at his gesture, locking the doors in place so they could not close. Bridge crew all around were clinging to consoles against the wind; a lucky few made it to the opening and escaped. The depressurization klaxon was wailing and the emergency lights were spinning, only adding to the pandemonium. Kallig was looking around frantically, lightsaber forgotten; a flailing ensign slid past him and Kallig grabbed him and flung him back to safety. How he maintained his own balance was a mystery to Pyron. The air was getting thin, and Pyron was beginning to wheeze even though he was not exerting himself. They only had moments left…

“Why!?” Cressinth cried, charging at Kallig with her lightsaber raised. “Why do you protect them!? You are no true Sith!”

Kallig chuckled low in his throat, sounding just a little bit demented. “Oh, I’m the truest Sith you’ll ever meet.” He sank into a wide crouch, raised his hands decisively, and the room fairly _hummed_ with invisible energy. He snarled – and for a moment, looked truly terrifying, even more inhuman than he already did – by the Emperor, were those _fangs_? Lightning crackled around his body; several lighting panels exploded; and just as Cressinth reached him, the flooring swelled up in the centre of the room before tearing free with a popping of nuts and bolts. Cressinth swung; Kallig ducked, halfway, and lightning sizzled and spat, blindingly bright. There were two simultaneous shrieks, one low, one high, and Cressinth was sucked out the gaping viewport. The floor panels slammed over the viewport behind her, and the howl of escaping air dwindled to a whistle. The panels bent in the middle – they weren’t made to withstand this sort of pressure – but held.

Kallig was shaking violently, a new dark slash visible on his left sleeve, his face transformed into something hideous and demonic. Slowly, he swayed to one side, his eyes unfocusing slightly. Pyron cautiously climbed to his feet and Kallig straightened abruptly, turning towards him with a detached, calm expression – though his hands were still trembling. “Admiral.” The darkness was gone from his face, and he looked like… an ordinary young alien man, if slightly… unwell, somehow. And very grim.

“My lord,” Pyron said. The air was terribly thin, and he could hear it still escaping, yet he could still gather his dignity. “There is yet one task remaining to us. May I complete it?”

Kallig silently gestured to Moff Bilsane’s former seat. Pyron walked over and sat, and couldn’t help letting out a quiet sigh of satisfaction. This was where he belonged. He glanced around at the bridge crew pointedly, and they hurried to their stations, looking to him for orders. “Battle stations. Shields up, and stand by. Implacable, Doombringer, report.”

“We are battle-ready and await your command, sir,” replied Taugel, the captain of the Implacable. Yes, the armoured Destroyer was right where he needed it to be – flanking the Reprisal closely. The Doombringer and the Infernal had taken up stations fore and aft of the Reprisal, not to block it in, but to inflict maximum damage while receiving minimal. The Reprisal had begun to move forward, out of formation, but had paused, probably to pick up Bilsane’s shuttle. Technicians were rushing into the bridge; most of them hurried to the broken viewport, to spray expanding sealant all over it until the bridge could be vacated for proper repairs. The effect on the atmospheric pressure was immediate, thank the Emperor. One of them was a medic who hurried to Pyron’s side and began to bandage his arm. Another medic went to Kallig, who sidestepped her, even though he’d been much more badly wounded than Pyron had been.

“Hold position.” With any luck, they would not be forced to action. “Reprisal.”

The forward viewscreen blinked on again, Moff Bilsane filling most of it. “You think you have won, don’t you, Pyron!? Imperial High Command will have you destroyed for this! This is mutiny! Treason! Dishonourable conduct unbefitting an officer of the Imperial Navy, indeed! Mark my words-”

“Now you mark me and mine,” Kallig said suddenly, taking a step forward into the range of the holocam. “High Command has lost interest in you. What little protection you had has been utterly stripped. I command here now – and Moff Pyron will see my commands fulfilled.”

“ _Moff_ Pyron!? Outrageous! Who are you, alien slime!? I am-”

“You’re an imbecile and a waste of oxygen,” Kallig said. “I am Murlesson Kallig, Lord of the Sith, and I will put you out of your misery.” He raised a hand, and Bilsane began to choke and gag.

“Cut the transmission!” cried Captain Kirtyne in the background, but Kallig twisted his wrist, and Bilsane collapsed with a gurgling crunch even as the transmission blinked off.

Pyron waited. Would the Reprisal attempt to fight? Surely there was no point in it? He attempted to re-establish audio-only communication. “Reprisal, come in. With Moff Bilsane dead, you have no reason to risk charges of insubordination. Stand down, and I will not be forced to destroy you.”

He heard Kirtyne choke off an inappropriate retort, wheezing before muttering: “Acknowledged. Standing down.”

“He’ll be gone in a week, anyway,” Kallig said, disinterested, and pulled out a personal commlink. “Drellik.”

“Here, my lord!” A cheerful voice answered, breathlessly, and Kallig breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Mission accomplished, all present and accounted for!”

“All?” Kallig asked, retrieving his mask with telekinesis and replacing it on his head. He seemed to relax when it was done.

“Yes, my lord! May I assume that all is well with you?”

“It is.” Kallig glanced at Pyron. “I’d like to speak with Lady Pyron.” Ah, that was true, if he was a Moff, his wife was a Lady. That announcement would startle her for certain.

Kallig passed him the commlink; he heard a moment of fumbling microphones, and then a hesitant voice. “Valion?”

“Sandana,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes… yes, I am, and so are the children and grandchildren. What is going on? The kind lieutenant tried to explain, but there wasn’t time – and then there was all this shooting…”

“There has been a shift in power,” he said, trying not to let on just how satisfying this was. “Lord Kallig has made me Moff. I’m sorry I could not warn you properly ahead of time.”

All Sandana could do was make incomprehending fluttering noises. “Th-then… _you_ are all right?”

“I’m quite well,” he said, and really, he was, arm aside. “Please continue to place your trust in Lieutenant Drellik and have no fear for me. Lord Kallig is in command of the 44th and is restoring order.”

“Well… all right then. Call soon, Valion.”

“I will, Sandana.”

That was somewhat more personal than he liked for the open bridge, even if the volume on a personal commlink wasn’t very loud, but he was grateful Kallig had allowed him reassurance like that. He handed back the commlink. “Well. Your orders, my lord?”

Kallig glanced at the viewport repairs. “Assemble the fleet for travel, and have these repairs completed quickly. We’ll set course for Axxila tomorrow.”

Axxila seemed an odd choice to him, but he was not yet privy to Kallig’s plans. “Yes, my lord. It will be done.”

“I’m heading to medical,” Kallig said, looking at his left arm, which he was still holding carefully. How he managed to stand so straight and speak with such unconcern through undoubtedly great amounts of pain was amazing to Pyron, but the young man was remarkable in many ways. “I will speak with you later.”

“Yes, my lord.”

His injuries bandaged in kolto by medics who were almost too afraid to touch him, Murlesson went up to Bilsane’s quarters. He didn’t care for looking into the dead man’s effects at all, and would be perfectly happy to have every sign of him wiped from the ship. He was just looking for a quiet place to drop his guard and deal with some personal business. Somewhere that wasn’t someone’s closet, as he’d been doing until Cressinth showed up and he’d had to leave. Khem and Revel had transferred to the Acrimonious and into suitable quarters until they met their rendevous with the Viper.

The guards let him in at once, and he locked the door behind himself, glanced around at the uselessly luxurious trappings, and found a sofa that didn’t look terrible. He sank onto it, his head in his hands, and moaned. Everything hurt. He’d pushed himself very hard and taken a severe hit – but if he hadn’t taken the hit, everyone else on the bridge would have died. Probably. Maybe. It was all rather a blur and it was possible he had actually had time to take care of Cressinth first and fix the window after. At least his willingness to shed his own blood meant Pyron trusted him more now.

 _I suppose you’re proud of yourself for proving what an incompetent nincompoop you are,_ began the voices in his head _. Focusing on entirely the wrong things all through the fight. Naga Sadow would laugh if he didn’t simply destroy you for ineptitude._

“Frak off,” he said, massaging his temples through the mask, which didn’t work at all. His back and legs spasmed, and he slid off the couch with a whine. How much had it cost just to pretend to be strong? “What are you going to do to me now? Anything new, or are you just going to hiss at me until I keel over?”

That did seem to be the plan, but he still didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure how long he spent rolling around on the floor, dowsed in cold sweat, just focusing on breathing, trying to subjugate the voices by flooding them with Darkness and hatred and whacking his head on the floor, but his chrono told him it had only been about half an hour before he forced himself to do something else. He felt like he was starting to get bruised. Ashara would be upset with him. He pulled out his commlink with a trembling hand – all his limbs were shaking and he doubted his ability to stand. “Drellik.”

“Here, my lord! We have returned the Pyrons to their homes, and the hostile forces have withdrawn in full.”

“Good,” Murlesson said. Words couldn’t express how relieved he was that Drellik was unharmed. When he’d thought his plan was crumbling down… And to lose Drellik was… unexpectedly distressing to contemplate. Frak, he was getting too attached. He couldn’t help it, and it angered him – though he’d never admit it to Drellik, he didn’t deserve that burden. _You think yourself ‘friends’ with the most insignificant of worms. They are all pawns to be used! You keep forgetting this! How many times must we teach you!? It’s no use lecturing him, he’s soft as a spacesponge. His strength drains out of him and he lets it run. Let it run, let it run out, let us in!_ “Is Jeik still around?”

“Yes, my lord! I’ll pass you over.”

After a moment, a rougher voice spoke. “Hey, Murl- uh, Lord. Good to hear from ya. How’s it been?”

“It’s been,” Murlesson said mildly.

“Almost didn’t believe it was you when you sent me the message. Lieutenant, I taught this boy to shoot a blaster not six months ago, and now he’s a Sith Lord! Hey, how’re your tattoos settling in?”

“They’re fine,” Murlesson said. Why was it he’d wanted to speak to Jeik, when he couldn’t think of anything to say!? “Er… would you be amenable to working for me again in the future?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Not the worst escort mission I’ve ever been on, by a long shot. Your Kaleesh apprentice, boy, he sure can go! Yeah, just call me up when you need a little extra pizzazz, and I’ll get the guys together for you.”

“Good,” Murlesson said, and hesitated. “It was… good to hear you again.” _Even from the time his blade was a little sharper, he has attachments._

“Yeah, yeah! See ya soon.”

“What did he mean about Xalek?” he demanded as soon as Drellik had the commlink again. “I want the full report.”

“I arrived at the meeting place in Akbanthline Mall at the appointed time. The family were all there, as directed, and we left in two vehicles. We made it partway to the spaceport when the road onwards was destroyed by the gunship, and we were encircled by soldiers. It-”

“Wait,” Murlesson said. “Yes, I know the gunship was present, I saw it in the transmission the hostiles sent to the Acrimonious. But what the frak was Xalek doing instead of destroying it like I told him to!?” Jeik’s scouts had turned up a number of suspicious things – Bilsane’s soldiers, Cressinth’s added commandos, and the gunship on Bilsane’s payroll. The last would have been a problem – _had been_ a problem – and so he’d ordered Xalek to destroy it before it launched. Either it had launched early or Xalek had ignored him.

He heard Drellik sniff and assumed he’d winced. “As I understand it, he was disagreeing with Ashara on the correct course of action. Shall I put him on?”

“Give me the rest of the report first.” Better to have the whole picture in case he yelled about the wrong thing.

“While we were surrounded and considering surrender, the Mandalorians arrived; unfortunately, Ashara was not with them as planned, as she was still… otherwise engaged. However, they were able to defend us without her support. It became more dangerous when commandos joined the soldiers, and the gunship began to add its support. That was when the Mandalorians deployed their RPG launcher, destroying the gunship, and Ashara and Xalek joined in the battle. Ashara defended us admirably, my lord, but Xalek was amazing – he went on the attack, and I do believe he eliminated half the hostile forces single-handedly… Not long afterwards, the hostiles withdrew and we allowed them to go, choosing to escort the Pyrons the rest of the way to the spaceport, where you contacted me to inform us of the mission’s success.”

“Now I will speak to Xalek.” He didn’t have the energy to yell at him. He’d save it for when he returned to the Viper _._

“Lord,” Xalek’s voice said, deep and impassive.

“I’m displeased,” Murlesson said. “You dared to disobey me.”

“To fight-”

“I didn’t ask,” Murlesson snapped. Never mind. He had plenty of energy to yell, just none to do anything else. He could yell while lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor. _Tear him apart, promise him torture, promise him blood!_ He found his other fist clenching and stilled it; they wouldn’t influence him like that, and he didn’t need his fingertips bleeding again. “You’re lucky you’re not before me now. Harkun might not have had the authority to do anything about that loose attitude, but if you deviate from my battle plans again for any reason whatsoever I’ll zap you to a crisp before you can drawl out another of your laconic words.” Xalek said nothing. “You’re confined to quarters until I say otherwise, and while you’re there I expect you to read some godsdamned lore.” ‘Go to your room and do your homework’, he snarked to himself internally. It was a soft punishment, but he couldn’t vent his anger in person at that moment, not without visuals. He almost hoped Xalek would still be defiant when they all rejoined, so that he could assert his dominance. _You call that a punishment? Bite him, little snake, sting him, make him pay!_

That was partly his problem, his lack of preparatory dominance. He’d wanted to use Force-users on that side of the fight, and from all accounts Xalek _had_ acquitted himself well in combat, but he hadn’t worked with him before, hadn’t had the chance to instruct him personally. It was partly his own fault for sending out an untested asset. So it was with Sith. Xalek had to see his power first-hand to be rendered obedient, and apparently murdering Harkun hadn’t been enough. And this really was his last chance; one more mistake and Murlesson wasn’t wasting any more effort on him.

“…Yes, Lord,” Xalek said, and left.

“Any further orders, my lord?” Drellik asked. His chipperness was beginning to become wearing. _Oh, make him shut up. Permanently, if you’d be so kind. I tire of his annoying voice!_

“Just pack up and head for Axxila,” Murlesson said. “We’ll meet you there.”

“You sound tired, my lord. Take care.”

Murlesson had just ended the transmission when his commlink went off again. “Ugh, what is it _now?_ …Kallig here.”

“My lord, you’ve an urgent call coming in from the Dark Council,” said the comm officer – the night shift officer, so Murlesson had no idea what his name was.

“Every call the Dark Council makes is probably urgent,” he grumbled. “I’ll take it in my private quarters.” He dragged himself to his feet and over to the holoprojection plate, taking a deep breath and forcing his pain-wracked body into a strong position. “Go ahead.”

Around him, holoprojections winked into sight, seven Darths on seven thrones. He knew them all by sight and name, but Thanaton was already standing. “Do you realize what you’ve done!?” he thundered. “You insolent boy!”

“It seems that I’ve pissed you off more than usual, so I think I’ve done rather well,” Murlesson retorted. He could not show weakness before all these powerful Sith, and while his ingrained hatred simmered deep inside, he wasn’t freezing up in front of them, let his hatred carry him to new confidence. “You certainly scurried into action quickly, couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” _A petty charge… but how the Sith thrive on pettiness_.

“Of course it bloody well can’t wait until tomorrow,” Darth Ravage growled. “We can’t have a mere Lord running around with a Moff and a fleet, certainly not one _stolen_ from its rightful master.” Thanaton must have called them together, livid, immediately after he heard the news.

“Tradition and law dictate there are very strict rules of succession for commanding the military!” Thanaton cried. “You can’t simply march in and declare yourself master of the fleet!”

“Tradition,” Murlesson said flatly. “Sith tradition is as old as the Sith themselves – and yet the breaking, the side-stepping, the _cheating_ of tradition is a tradition in itself. I walk inside the lines until it is necessary that I do not – and I know each and every one of you has done the same.”

“Slander!” Thanaton exclaimed. “How dare you!” _He protests first, because he is the worst hypocrite. Look how this Vowrawn smiles. He is guilty and revels in it. Look how Ravage sours – how many of his rivals has he murdered in ‘untraditional’ ways?_

Murlesson spread his hands. He could orate on this topic all day. “I know the rites; I know the songs, the dances, the lore and philosophy of a thousand lifetimes. And knowing all I know, in the end, my lords, there are only two things of importance to a Sith: Power, and the wisdom to use it to attain more. _That_ is Sith tradition, from Ajunta Pall, to Naga Sadow, to our own Emperor.” _Sith have no rules. Our boy spoke well_.

“Haha! Well said,” Darth Vowrawn said. “You’re quite eloquent, aren’t you? I think the whole thing’s rather amusing, myself. Well, Darth Marr, Darth Vengean, what’s your take on the matter?”

“Unacceptable,” Darth Vengean said. “Especially since it is plain he only seized this fleet to continue his vendetta against Darth Thanaton. We will need every ship to be ready for the next war, not wasted in petty squabbles.”

Murlesson bristled. “Well then, if it’s such a ‘ _petty squabble_ ‘, you tell _him_ to stop trying to kill me.” He pointed hotly at Thanaton, who snarled silently. “And then maybe I’ll stop trying to kill him. Until then, he started this mess, and I’ll be the one to finish it.” _Or we will… if we feel like it_.

Darth Marr, who had not moved or spoken yet, chuckled softly. “A bold claim – and yet you are still alive. So far.”

“I am, my lord,” Murlesson said. “I am alive, and I won control of this fleet through fair combat against Lord Cressinth.” It was really surprisingly true. The Dark Council didn’t care about Pyron’s family, so all the tactical gymnastics he’d had to do to get the fleet on his side didn’t count compared to the fact that he’d simply punted Cressinth into deep space during single combat. “I would like to formally apply for recognition of my patronage of the 44th Imperial Fleet.”

“Who was your last master?” Darth Vowrawn asked idly. “Darth Zash, wasn’t it? You’re a lot like her – audacious, persuasive, well-read. Colder on the outside, perhaps, less charming than she was.”

Should he let on how much he despised her? “Darth Zash is gone. She died trying to kill me.” It was true she had a similar story – Thanaton had called her up in the wake of Murlesson killing Skotia, and she’d talked her way into a promotion instead of a punishment. _Like master, like apprentice, like all Sith_.

“Good lad. Well, Marr?”

Darth Marr was silent.

“He broke the law!” Thanaton exclaimed. “Return my fleet to me!”

Darth Marr looked over at Thanaton slowly. “He has shown his skill. I think I’d like to see what he’d do with a fleet.”

“No!” Thanaton cried.

“Let us put it to a vote, then,” Darth Vowrawn said. “To be sure, there are only seven of us here today. But that simply means we shan’t have a tie! All in favour of granting Lord Kallig this fleet, say aye.”

There were four, Vowrawn and Marr among them. Thanaton hissed and got to his feet. “I won’t forget this. Good day to you all.” He left the holoprojection.

Murlesson bowed. “Thank you, my lords. I’ll show you my capabilities soon enough.” Was that a promise or a threat? Even he didn’t know. His ghosts were cackling merrily away inside his head.

“I look forward to it,” Darth Vowrawn said, smiling cheerily at him.

Strange, now that he thought about it, about traditions and their accumulated dead weight, Xalek wasn’t too far off with his blunt ‘kill or be killed’ axiom. The difference was, Xalek thought nothing else necessary, while Murlesson knew it was all vitally necessary – to know, if not to follow. Traditions were a form of identity, and a useful means of exploiting people who had them. He didn’t have any he really identified with himself… that he knew of, and he preferred it that way, it meant he didn’t have the same weaknesses. Revel and Ashara would surely say he also had less joy in his life, but so what? _You need to take more joy in destruction and murder to make up for it. Be like that Volkova girl! He’ll never do that, he’s too scarred to take joy in anything_.

And now he needed to look into a few things, and try not to sleep just yet. Frakking hell. He turned off his commlink so he wouldn’t receive any more calls and collapsed onto Bilsane’s hideous couch again with a datapad. He needed to speak to the quartermaster tomorrow, get all this opulent junk sold off, get in like two mattresses and fifty pillows instead. A large computer terminal with many displays. Shelves for books and datapads and holocrons, he could keep a lot more here than on the Viper. He didn’t even know what to do with all the space in here, if he took the walls out there would be nearly enough room to land the Viper itself. He’d have to ask Ashara…

Pyron remained on station for the remainder of the full daily shift; discipline would not suffer one jot from the change in leadership. The fleet had been briefed in full about Lord Kallig and Pyron’s promotion, and he’d conducted a thorough inspection to ensure that everything would work perfectly for Kallig when called upon. Kirtyne was resentful and only made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, but the Reprisal was in battle-ready condition, at least. He was hoping to call his wife again at some point, but he would take the opportunity to speak with his new patron, perhaps learn more of him now that their situations had changed.

And of course he had contacted High Command to inform them of his promotion, to meet with his new peers. “It’s about time,” Moff Graham said calmly. “I offer you congratulations.”

“I do not,” huffed Moff Dolus. “Your new patron is some no-name Sith Lord setting himself against a Dark Council member. Thanaton will have your head! And mine, if he thinks that I support you for one minute.”

“Come, be reasonable, Dolus,” Moff Graham said. “Thanaton grows more insufferable every day. Our ‘ancient and mystical Sith traditions’ will win wars, he says. Not generals with training. If Lord Kallig can put him in his place, all the better for all of us.”

“I am pleased to inform you that Lord Kallig is a practical man in favour of utilizing _all_ the Empire’s resources to their fullest capability,” Pyron said, feeling quite comfortable in his new position. He might be the newest Moff around, and the 44th might only be a mid-level fleet patronized by a currently ‘no-name’ Sith Lord, but he had the feeling that was going to change quite soon. His promotion was only the beginning of things moving and shaking in the Empire.

“That is very promising to hear indeed,” Moff Graham said. “Welcome to High Command. I look forward to working with you, Moff Pyron.”

“Thank you, Moff Graham. I am pleased to finally be in a position of use to the Empire.”

He found Kallig in his quarters when he returned at the end of shift.

“My lord,” he greeted him. “Thank you.”

Kallig tilted his head at him. “Why?”

“For removing a blight upon the Fleet, and elevating me in his place,” Pyron explained.

Kallig shrugged and said nothing.

“And for protecting my family,” Pyron added gently.

Kallig shook his head and huffed in frustration. “That did not go according to plan. I have punished the one responsible, and it will not happen again.”

Was that to reassure Pyron, or himself? As if he sought Pyron’s approval as much as Pyron sought his? He really was young, wasn’t he? “No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

“And if it does, it’s probably a trap,” Kallig said. “Well, that’s why I hired Mandalorians.”

“You trust Mandalorians, my lord?” Pyron asked. He didn’t much himself; they were too wild, undisciplined, and had no concept of what made a successful, civilized society. Well, it was just more evidence that Kallig really did utilize every resource at his disposal.

“I trust my Mandalorian contact,” Kallig said, and sat up, seeming to change gears in an instant. “Care for a drink?”

“Please, if you would be so kind,” Pyron said, sitting across from him. Kallig didn’t use telekinesis this time – too tired, perhaps, and Pyron did not blame him.

“I’ve seized control of Bilsane’s assets,” Kallig said, returning and handing him the glass, then leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “The illegal ones, anyway. I looked into Imperial law on the matter, and by rights they should return to the communities he stole them from.” He growled. “How is it so easy to steal, and so difficult to return what is stolen? How I understand it, the monies will be tied up in court for months even though the thief is dead.”

“I imagine that the Imperial Revenue Service would need to do a full investigation to ascertain the true origins of all his stolen funds,” Pyron said. “But if you would indulge my curiosity, my lord, it seems odd to me that your first thought would be to _return_ the funds at all.” Perhaps that was not the wisest comment to make; he approved of returning the money and didn’t want to encourage Kallig not to.

Fortunately, Kallig seemed offended by the idea. “Please, I’m a Sith Lord, not a Hutt, and this isn’t Nar Shaddaa. I don’t need his stink trailing the 44th after he’s been removed from the galaxy, and a goodwill gesture like that will go a long way towards dispelling it.” He huffed. “I don’t need the Revenue Service involved. I’ll return it myself. I don’t have time to mess around with bureaucracy like that.”

Which was why there were always armies of lawyers happy to take care of it for him, but Pyron refrained from imposing his opinion on the conversation.

“You don’t seem very surprised by me,” Kallig said abruptly. “I was expecting more hesitation once you saw my face.”

Pyron chuckled a little. “You refer, perhaps, to the fact that you are an alien? My lord, I may not be ready to retire, but I’m old enough that an alien Sith is no surprise. Most aliens do not fit in the Imperial Military, but Sith command power regardless of race, gender… or age.”

“Oh, so you’re more surprised by the fact that I’m young,” Kallig said. “Fine, I’ll accept that. I have, unfortunately, been forced to fight with all my strength just to remain alive as long as I have. Which is very likely related to being alien as well.” A pause. “Shut up.” To Pyron: “Not you.”

“It’s a marvel to me that you’re likely young enough to be my grandson,” Pyron said, earning himself a disgruntled look from the young man – or so he guessed from the sharp reaction, mask and all. “And yet you have the cunning to seize command of a fleet despite High Command and the existing fleet’s Sith patron.”

Kallig shrugged. “Naga Sadow did far more. I’m just getting started – with luck.”

“I’ve heard of him. An ancient Sith Lord, was he not?”

“Naga Sadow is… essentially to the Sith, what Odile Vaiken is to the Imperial military, I suppose,” Kallig said. After a brief pause and a muttered curse seemingly to himself, he continued. “Even if you’re not a Sith, you could do worse than to read of his achievements. Sometimes I really wish I didn’t have to engage in all this petty bickering so I could have time to do some proper _research_. Maybe write and publish my own findings.”

“Research, my lord?”

“If I weren’t a Sith, I’d be an archaologist,” Kallig said casually. Pyron didn’t know why that was surprising to him, but it was. Perhaps because this youth seemed too… intense for archaeology. And after all the military talk. “While the Sith of ancient times have been very useful in many different ways for what they left behind, I also simply enjoy learning for its own sake, now that I have the freedom to do so.”

“I wholeheartedly concur,” Pyron said. He was no student of history, but he certainly did love reading the classics; Imperial literature, mostly, and Grand Moff Vaiken’s journals and other war manuals, although he did have a soft spot for the novels of two centuries ago. With tea. It had been too long since he’d read anything, come to think of it. Once this campaign was concluded, he would have to make some time to relax with one of his favourites and a large pot of tea. He had a feeling he was going to appreciate it a great deal, if they all survived.

Kallig stood wearily. “I’ve begun making plans to draw out Thanaton; I may not be with you personally very much in the next little while. I will try not to pit you against fellow Imperials, but the fact of the matter is that my objective is eliminating Thanaton, and he will undoubtedly try to use his fleets to protect himself – unless I’m very clever. Which I usually am.”

“I will do my best to serve,” Pyron assured him. “Best to deal with Thanaton now, before the war springs up again-”

Kallig’s commlink was going off again. The young man sighed and dug around for it in his pocket. “I’m very popular today, it seems. …Kallig here.”

“Murlesson,” said a smooth, cultured voice. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not yet,” Kallig said. “What do you need?”

“I’ve finally cornered Kel Reu Giri. Unfortunately, I cannot fight him alone. And I cannot delay in defeating him.”

Kallig had gone very still. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s killing a world.” The other man’s voice hardened in anger. “One of _my_ worlds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more author notes: I got the idea from the initial Xalek support conversation (he really doesn’t have a lot of content, does he?) that he’s an ignorant simpleton by Murlesson’s standards, just because he doesn't see convoluted philosophy as necessary. But while he may be an unquestioningly-obedient honourable warrior blade eventually, he’s not completely obedient in this part of this story, because he doesn’t yet see Murlesson as the ‘great warrior’ he keeps talking about in-game. He sees him more as a bratty kid who talks too much, which is entirely true!


	25. A Dying World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, [Aristheron](http://www.adhemlenei.com/illinia/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/swtor-2016-11-15-14-05-41-77.jpg) was the one who got me into Disturbed (at the suggestion of his player). Aristheron’s music playlist is pretty all over the place, but the selections all add up to an uncompromising warrior whose indomitable prowess is only matched by his nobility of spirit, a dark knight who is yet a good person. I believe his new armour set is the Heavy Exoskeletal Warsuit. I managed to dig up my old [screenshots](http://www.adhemlenei.com/illinia/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/swtor-2016-11-15-13-01-12-34.jpg) from our playthrough together (back on my old laptop that couldn’t handle good graphics lol). He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?
> 
> His original theme was [The Vengeful One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_ItSLCZWb0&feature=youtu.be), and his romance theme with Vany is [The Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1UUAhZ3JzM&feature=youtu.be). At some point he acquired [Wake the White Wolf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGMSN_dQgLg&feature=youtu.be), and he can also make use of [Indestructible](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjRWG0tKD4A&feature=youtu.be) and [Ten Thousand Against One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMMboHJJFPI&feature=youtu.be) (please to ignore terrible music video), and one more that I’m saving.
> 
> The chase scene in this chapter was written to [Corpse Party: Unavoidable Tragedy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8D0n6WaE6BU&feature=youtu.be) (or Tradegy, as the video spells it >.>)

Part 25: A Dying World

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Murlesson said. “Elaborate, please.”

“I tracked Kel Reu Giri to the Salvara system a few days ago,” Aristheron said. “It is a Republic-held system now, but up until the Treaty of Coruscant it was part of my family’s domain; I visited the planet of Salvara in my youth. I have no power there now, but I still consider it part of my responsibility and I will protect it against this false Jedi. Through Janelle I have requested that the Republic refuse him entry to any spaceport. It took some persuading, as he has some sway with the local government.”

“He could just mind-control enough people to leave,” Murlesson suggested. _Boy, boy, why are you wasting time with your friends when there’s a Darth to kill? You_ do _want to kill him before you die, don’t you?_

“I think that is not his strong suit, but I will admit it’s a possibility. Still… I do not think he intends to leave yet.”

“But what’s the reason you need me? How is he ‘killing’ your world?”

“I can feel his actions through the Force,” Aristheron said. “He’s doing something, some sort of ritual, that is altering the balance of the entire world. The atmosphere roils with storms, wildfires rage out of control, the sea beats savagely at the shores, and the people are uneasy and unwell. I’m certain his ultimate goal was me, that he feels he has drawn me here, to kill me with this ritual, and he is willing to sacrifice the entire planet to do so. So I would call in my ally, who will not only be able to aid me in hunting him down and finally slaying him, but also in understanding and stopping his ritual.”

Murlesson took a moment to process that. “I suppose that really is more important that killing Thanaton. Is Salvara a terribly useful planet?” _Perhaps you_ should _go there and see if you can steal this knowledge. I for one would be curious about it. And I want to know how fallen Jedi fight in this age! It’s all futile, anyway…_

“Irrelevant,” Aristheron said, which Murlesson took to mean ‘no’. He’d look it up later to find out for certain. “Will you come, then?”

“I suppose I will. Why not. It’s not like I’m fighting for my life against a pissed-off Darth or anything.”

Aristheron chuckled at the sarcasm. “When Giri is dead, I will support you in whatever manner I am able to.” _Ha, what will_ he _do? Strong but stupid, and far too trusting._

“Without upsetting the delicate balance of power on the Dark Council, of course.” It would be great if Aristheron could duel Thanaton for him, although… he’d be vulnerable to heart attacks. Unless Murlesson found a way to shield him, he was certain it was possible. But that was a fool’s hope to begin with – if Aristheron openly sided with Murlesson, it would reflect poorly on Darth Marr in Thanaton’s eyes.

Might it not be an issue that Murlesson was openly siding with Aristheron, or did that mean less or nothing to Thanaton and Darth Marr?

At least Darth Marr had let him have his new toys. “Shall I bring my fleet?” He was much too smug about the words ‘ _my fleet_ ‘ but he’d earned it, a little bit, hadn’t he? “I’m here with Moff Pyron right now.” Pyron stood, ready to be of assistance, but he probably didn’t need him yet.

“Ah, so you took my recommendation,” Aristheron said. Faintly in the background, he heard Vany call ‘congratumalations!’ and had to smile faintly under his mask. “I offer my congratulations, as does Vany. Have you applied for formal recognition of your patronage?”

“Yes indeed, when Thanaton called to throw a hissy fit,” Murlesson grumbled. “I’ll head to Salvara tomorrow. Send me as much information as you possibly can as soon as you can.”

“Very well. I hope to see you soon. And no, I don’t require your fleet at the moment.”

“Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye.”

He met with Aristheron nearly a week later, after having paused briefly at Axilla to join the Viper and the crew there. Xalek had been characteristically quiet, and offered no defense for his actions. Drellik had been cheerful in the knowledge of a job well-done, and Ashara had been very glad to be back. Now Zash was studying artefacts with Drellik and Ashara to assist; Xalek was studying his own material, hopefully, and Revel’s activities Murlesson neither knew nor cared about. Murlesson sent Pyron off, with instructions to keep track of the 43rd‘s and 58th‘s locations, not to go further than a day’s hyperspace jump away from Salvara, and to patrol for pirates – because the border was quiet right now, and there really wasn’t much they could do while remaining within a day’s travel. Pyron was happy to take the time to shake his fleet down and ensure that no discipline had been lost while power transferred. And Captain Kirtyne had transferred out, his replacement already on-station and showing no signs of trouble yet.

Murlesson itched to send them to do something more consequential, and having spent several days in discussion with Pyron, having a crash course in galactic strategy and finding out just what it was like to see for real what he’d only read about in holocrons, he wanted to go tease Thanaton’s other fleets, or begin manoeuvering his way to more influence in historically significant systems, or… But he’d given his word he would help Aristheron first, and he didn’t want to let them go too far yet. Just in case. Aristheron seemed to think this would be quick, but he didn’t believe that.

He met Aristheron on Miruta, Salvara’s second moon out of three, the one with such extensive colonization it was possible to walk for hours without finding the edge of the colony bubbles. Not that he had any need to go out there. He went to the Kollyrion’s docking bay by himself, leaving the others to their own devices.

Vany was waiting for him at the entrance to the hangar. “Heya, Murlesson! It’s been a while! It’s really good to see you again. Geez, you look kinda ill, are you all right? You’re walking funny.”

“I’m fine,” he said. Had she always talked this much, or was it just because she hadn’t seen him in a while? _She is annoying. Silence her!_

“I don’t believe that for a second, but anyway congrats on your fleet and stuff! You’re actually further ahead in the bureaucracy than Aris, can you believe it? I mean, not for long, the 23rd is really growing fast and Clay is a commodore-”

“Wasn’t he a captain the last time I saw him?” The… he barely remembered… strait-laced, almost dour dark-skinned officer, wasn’t it? A jump from captain to commodore seemed… fast.

“Ooh. Yeah, but he was on the verge of being promoted anyway when he transferred to Aris’s service. But anyway, if we pull this off, Aris can get him to admiral, and maybe Stroud will get to colonel – although that’s probably pushing it, and major is where he’s supposed to be…” _A violence-loving man, as I recall – if your ally has any brains at all, he’ll keep him where he can do the most damage_.

“I didn’t know you had a head for such things,” he said, looking down at her sauntering beside him with her hands tucked behind her head under her lekku. She looked very carefree for someone speculating about military promotions.

“Nah! I’m just repeating what Aris told me.”

“You call him ‘Aris’ now?” Seemed undignified. _She truly is an insolent girl. Did she not use to be a slave? What is your ally thinking, allowing such scum to go free and speak her mind?_ Those ghosts had better shut up or he was going to give himself a concussion. _Go ahead. Do it! It matters not to us_.

“Yeah!” She giggled, and her aura flared with giddy happiness that distracted him from the moronic peanut gallery and even lifted his mood a little. “Aristheron Laskaris is a lovely name, but it’s pretty long, you know?”

“I am… very confused right now.”

“As long as _you_ don’t shorten my name,” Aristheron himself said, standing at the top of the ramp, his muted aura strong and steady as always. He was wearing new half-robed armour, black and gold with red trim. “It is a privilege reserved only for Vany. It’s good to see you again, Murlesson.”

“People keep saying that,” Murlesson said. “But it’s better than the other things they keep saying. It’s… good to see you, too.” It really had been too long. He hadn’t realized how much he missed Aristheron. _Weak_.

“The other things?” Vany asked.

“Well, you know… ‘You again!? How dare you! You’ll pay for this!’ And so on and so forth.”

Vany laughed. “Aww, I’ll never say that. Except as a joke.” _She wouldn’t have time, if you turned on her… she’d be too weak to survive more than one encounter_. They were underestimating her, just a bit. Aristheron liked her for a reason. In fact, given how close they seemed at the moment…

But there were other things to attend to. Murlesson looked around at the Kollyrion’s empty common room. “I understand Commodore Clay is with your fleet, but where are the others of your crew?”

“Down on the planet,” Aristheron said. “Janelle is my liaison with the Republic officials, and Stroud is surveilling Giri’s whereabouts.”

“I see. Well… tell me everything.” He knew some things already, since Aristheron had updated him while he was en route, but better he begin at the beginning than risk leaving something out.

“Giri came here almost a fortnight ago, from the Voss system, and I followed a day or so later, leaving my fleet at Talcene. Upon determining that Giri was most definitely on this planet, I asked Janelle to request the ports be blockaded against Giri’s leaving. The Republic acquiesced; they are somewhat weak in number, and trusting of Jedi – I don’t believe they even reported it to the Jedi Council, judging from the reports that I know they _have_ sent.” According to Murlesson’s own research, Salvara was not tactically significant, as he had guessed; its production was unimportant; the only reason it was in the Republic at all was a minor concession after the Treaty of Coruscant. Just another stop along the Perlimian Trade Route.

“The worrying part, is that we saw Sabran like two days after we got here, but we haven’t seen it since then,” Vany said. “We have seen Giri a few times, heading out or coming back from weird long random trips into the wilderness, but Janelle’s worried, it’s not like Sabran to be so secretive.”

“And… it… hasn’t left the planet?” Why had this being chosen the most confusing pronouns in Basic? He really didn’t get the point. Were pronouns really important when they were all trying to kill each other? The pronouns were annoying. Sabran was annoying. It was annoying that Janelle would probably veto any attempts to kill it. _Do it anyway, the galaxy won’t miss one more Jedi_.

“Not that we know of!” Vany said. “I mean, it has blue hair, it’s hard to miss for a human!” She grinned and pointed at herself with both thumbs. “I’m harder to miss, I’m blue all over.”

“That you are. More to the point,” Aristheron continued, “Giri has been up to something. Janelle and I have noticed the tides of the Force shifting on the planet, and as for the effects, you can see for yourself.” He adjusted the holodisplay. “This is a true-colour image of the planet from a month ago.” He adjusted it again. “This is a true-colour image of the planet now. It’s gotten worse since I contacted you the first time, as you can imagine.”

Murlesson stared at the brown, cloudy sphere. It had once been blue and green and fairly normal for a carbon-based world with an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. “I imagine it’s even more dramatic under other scans.”

“It is, and you can feel it in the Force. It’s all around you on the surface.”

“So what’s he been up to?” Murlesson demanded. “Where’s he going?”

“We don’t know,” Aristheron said. “In all this time, we have not been able to identify his destinations. We only have rough guesses.” He touched the display, and a number of yellow cross-hatched circles appeared over the diagram of the planet. “The computer has these estimates. What do you make of them?”

“Suspicious,” Murlesson said. “Most suspicious. Have you considered telling the Jedi and letting them deal with him? Surely they wouldn’t condone this.” _Are you being lazy, boy? Oh, efficiency is a much better word to use… But if he tells the Jedi, he won’t be able to steal the ritual! But then maybe we would be able to kill Jedi again…_

“They wouldn’t,” Aristheron said. “Janelle proposed that as well. But he is too dangerous to be left alive, and they will undoubtedly attempt to take him into custody and reform him rather than simply defeat him, and that would make the situation much too complicated. Perhaps I could ally with them temporarily in order to defeat him, but I would prefer not to involve them to begin with.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Murlesson said. “I’d like to not have to watch my back for overenthusiastic zealots, myself. I think I can puzzle this out. But it will take time.”

“Time I don’t intend to give him,” Aristheron said. “This is all irrelevant, really. Giri is basing his activity out of Heley City, in the southern hemisphere, and now that you’re here, I intend to strike tonight. Can you be ready?”

Murlesson lifted his head and looked at him with grim determination. “Yes.” If they could take him down tonight, he could be on his un-merry way and back to killing Thanaton with hardly a moment’s pause.

Aristheron stared at him in turn. “Are you certain? I was not sure before, but now I know – you are not well.”

“That’s what I said,” Vany said. _Ha! They don’t know the half of it. Tell them, boy_.

Murlesson brushed it off with a wave and turned away, feeling his body try to betray him with twinges and aches. His arm was mostly healed from his duel with Cressinth, at least, and the rest he just had to endure even as it steadily worsened. “I’ll be ready to fight and that’s all you need worry about.”

He felt Aristheron’s hand on his shoulder and flinched violently. “No. What has happened?”

He glared at him through the mask. “My quest to consume the power of Force-ghosts went well. Too well. I failed to kill Thanaton with it, and now the inmates are trying to run the asylum. Zash is researching a solution as we speak. That’s _all_.” _Tell them the truth, it’s much more amusing and tragic. You’re dying, little snake! You have been since you took us in. And you can’t get us to leave. There’s no hope or help for you_.

Aristheron’s hand fell away. “If you’re certain, then. And if there is anything I can do to help, you only need ask.” _I sense their care for you is sincere. How extravagant. It will be fun to make them suffer through you_.

“Maybe once she comes up with a bloody cure, I’ll be able to ask,” Murlesson grumbled. “In the meantime, I endure. Again. As usual. Stop fussing.”

“Then let’s go over the plan for tonight.”

The planet’s malaise was evident just dipping into the atmosphere; they all took passage separately to avoid making a big, suspicious-looking group, since what passed for normal in Imperial eyes looked completely disreputable by Republic standards – Drellik definitely had to change – and while customs looked askance at the young man with the mask that hid a terrible skin condition, it was… no big deal, really, there was nothing wrong with him, he seemed perfectly law abiding. Or so he told them silently, and so they believed. The mask probably saved him from the worst of the uneasy feeling that grew stronger the deeper they sank towards the planet’s surface.

They made their way semi-individually to an industrial zone in the east of the city. The time spent in the taxi speeder gave him ample opportunity to feel out this strange energy surrounding the planet, and what he felt disturbed him. This – whatever it was – was incredibly powerful, to be felt on a planetary level, even faintly as it was. It ought to have taken a team of Sith as strong as the Dark Council to manipulate, not one Jedi. And furthermore, it felt… there was something about it… But he couldn’t put his finger on it. _That_ was going to annoy him to no end. Still, there was no question that Giri was somehow incredibly strong, much stronger than he had been before.

He and Ashara got out of the taxi speeder in the shadow of a large industrial building; the sun had just set and it was getting dark rapidly. He reached out for Xalek’s presence and found him nearby. This would be part of his training… though given the circumstances, it was more like obedience training than apprentice training. Whatever.

“Lord, you should stay behind,” Xalek said as he approached.

“Why?” Murlesson demanded harshly.

“You are weak. Your life will be in danger.”

“That’s why I’m here!” Ashara said.

Murlesson pointed at Xalek, hackles up, not in the mood to be cheerful. “There’s something you don’t seem to understand. Even sick as I am, younger than you as I am, I’m stronger than you. You’ll have a hard time without me.” _Put them both in their place for being impertinent_.

“…Yes, Lord.”

The plan was not terribly complicated; Stroud had found the hangar Giri returned to after his mysterious wilderness adventures, so Aristheron, Janelle, Murlesson, Xalek and Ashara were going to attempt to trap him there and force a confrontation. Vany, Stroud, Revel, and Drellik were ready to back-up the Force-users, but they were more vulnerable and less effective.

Janelle was sure to ask questions about Sabran’s whereabouts, and Murlesson was probably going to hang back to let the melee combat specialists do what they did best. Actually, with the ache in his bones and the migraine in his head and the strange new buzzing feeling in his chest from this planet’s distorted aura, he probably _couldn’t_ fight Giri the way he had back on Alderaan, even though he’d been much less experienced and powerful then. He would really have to use his wits and his allies to be effective. _We’ll help… if you can corner the Jedi without us. The power you craved so much… that you still can’t control… if it comes to it, we’ll strike. It will be amusing_.

But first, they had to find him. He reached out, casting his mind in search of that implacable aura he remembered from Alderaan. Had he already arrived? Was he still a long way off?

There was something… on the periphery of his mind, and he closed his eyes and reached out his hand, hoping to increase his perception with a physical mnemonic.

His eyes snapped open. “He’s already there. Go!” They were late, or Giri had gotten back early. _Oho, off to a bad start. Better be quick, boy!_

They found and burst into the target hangar at the same time that Aristheron and Janelle did from the other side. There was no Jedi here, no Duros, and certainly no Duros Jedi, only startled-looking technicians and droids, and a ship still hissing with venting gases.

“Where did he go!?” cried Aristheron.

Without answer, Murlesson forced himself to run in the direction of another door. A technician ran to block him, nervous but ready to fight. “You can’t go back there! I’ll call security – Augh!”

Murlesson zapped him and flung him aside as Aristheron stormed past and kicked in the door. The other technicians yelled and began to band together. He didn’t care if they called security. Go ahead! Call them all! But they had other things to worry about – there was a great gaping hole in the back wall of the storeroom, the edges melted and glowing.

“After him!” Aristheron shouted, ducking through, and Murlesson hurled himself after. It was on the second story and he rolled as he hit the ground, the Force carrying him through. His toes jarred and he swallowed a grunt of agony.

The others followed after, but Aristheron had caught the scent and was running; Murlesson gritted his teeth and forced himself onwards. His body was still young and strong despite his condition, his legs were long; his muscles were technically capable of doing all he demanded of them, if he could get past the pain. “Stop holding me back!” _Try harder. Slither faster!_ Oh, they were no help at all.

He glanced side to side around the industrial complex down the narrow alley intersections. If they could somehow get ahead of Giri, that would be ideal. Or could he slow Giri down with his power? If he could see him, he could block his path, make things more difficult for him. It was probably simplest to use a speeder. “Vany. Acquire a speeder and locate Giri. He’s escaped the hangar and is running. Pick up Janelle and try to slow him down. Janelle, get on a roof to make pick-up expedient.”

“Got it!” Vany said. Janelle grunted in acknowledgement and jumped Jedi-high to catch a fire escape ladder.

His pulse thudded in his ears, in his head, in his throat, as he followed Aristheron’s swift pace through the buildings. Giri’s sense floated elusively before them, weaving between alleys and junctions, never within sight. It was a few moments before he heard the whine of an incoming speeder; it paused briefly before throttling up again. It cruised low overhead, waggling a little as if Revel – who he could sense was driving – wanted to wave to them.

It disappeared around the next bend, and then he heard the engines flare unnaturally, heard a scrunch echo down the alleyways, heard more revving, and then blasterfire from Stroud’s heavy machine gun. A screech of metal on duracrete, and a crash; the firing stopped.

“Vany!” cried Aristheron, darting around the next corner; Murlesson followed. The speeder Vany and Revel had stolen was on its side, smoke drifting out from under the hood; Janelle had jumped clear and was running, chasing a hooded figure in the distance. Stroud was crawling out of the car, his machine gun twisted and sparking.

Murlesson gasped for air inside his mask, and made his decision quickly. Aristheron could see to Vany and the others if he wanted. He was following Janelle and the fleeing figure. _Get him! Kill him!_

He rounded the corner and found – Janelle, alone, looking confused. “Where did he go!?”

“I don’t know!” she cried frantically. “He vanished!”

“Into thin air!? Impossible. I’m not weak enough he’d blind me.” _Your ego is delightfully large, if only moderately earned_. But sure enough, Giri’s sense was melting away… “He must have a second escape route from here.” He hadn’t heard a speeder take off, hadn’t heard a door slide or slam… He closed his eyes, concentrating. “That building.”

“Let’s go!” Ashara said, having caught up with them. She kicked open the nearest door into the building. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but did a Duros run by or anything?”

“N-no?” exclaimed the startled Twi’lek worker inside.

“You lie,” Murlesson snarled, raising his hand. _Punish his insolence! Make him scream!_

Ashara grabbed his hand, forcing it down. “We really need to know, he’s kind of a terrorist. We’re trying to stop him.”

“I-I-I c-can’t! He’ll kill me-”

“This is taking too long,” Murlesson said, yanking his hand free with a twist. “Hurry up and tell us!” The Twi’lek screamed as he was electrocuted. “Your math is terrible! You tell us where he is, we kill him, you go alive. You keep quiet, you think he’s going to come back to save you from me!?”

“Murlesson!” Ashara snapped, at the same time Janelle cried “Stop it!” The two Jedi women edged closer together, a united front against him.

“I-I’ll t-t-tell you!” the poor Twi’lek whimpered, writhing on the floor. “P-please-!”

Murlesson stopped, but his hand was still out. “Well!? Are you waiting for an invitation!?”

“Down the hall- on the right- to the tunnel!”

“Tunnel,” Aristheron said, entering. “What tunnel?” Without waiting for answer, he ran down the hall. Janelle and Xalek went with him.

“Tunnel to the… the subway,” the worker gasped. “Old… disused… maintenance only…”

Murlesson took one last look at him, then followed Aristheron. “We’re not going to catch him now.” From the subway he could have jumped on a railcar to anywhere in the city. He swore harshly under his breath.

Aristheron, paused at the top of a flight of stairs, let out a low growling sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We had bad intel.” The sound of railcars echoed distantly through the stairwell; it was a busy line. No, there was no way. Giri was gone.

“We tried,” Janelle said. “And he won’t be able to do that again. Next time, we’ll get him- although, he probably won’t head out anymore. If he’s close to having what he wants, he’ll bide his time and make do with what he has rather than risk it.”

“And we still don’t know where his hide-out is, do we?”

“No,” Aristheron said, smoothing away the anger of failure under the calm control of nobility. He turned to make his way out of the building. “But with your aid, we can find him.”

Murlesson sighed, hiding his own feelings under a blanket of dour normalcy. “He ran from us. He cannot fight all of us.” The one bright part of the mission. “Or maybe he’s just not ready to fight all of us _yet_.”

“Unless it comes to knocking about speeders like gravballs,” growled Major Stroud as the Force-users rejoined the gunslingers. “I hated that.”

Murlesson hated everything, at the moment. “Back to Miruta Port?”

“No, we’ll stay on-planet,” Aristheron said.

Murlesson wasn’t. “Because I’m going to investigate his ritual tomorrow, and I’ll need my ship for that.”

Aristheron nodded. “Do as you will. I have rooms at the Vullitis Hotel downtown, if you care to acquire lodging for the night and go back in the morning.”

He was tired. “All right. …Thank you. Actually, I’ll take you up on that. Dinner?” They needed to discuss more things.

Aristheron nodded courteously. “It would be a pleasure.”

A murmur was coming from the alley where the wrecked speeder lay, and several humanoids in security outfits were looking nervously around the corner at them. “Excuse me, but would you happen to know anything about this?”

“No,” Murlesson said, lacing his words with the Force. “We’re not involved. Go away.”

The woman who had spoken nodded. “You’re not involved. We’ll go away.”

“Let’s leave,” Murlesson said to Aristheron. “There’s enough of them that they’ll get suspicious of us in a minute anyway.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Aristheron said.

“I’ll be in touch,” Murlesson assured him, and they split up.

The speeder ride back downtown was awkward. There was no point in splitting up, now that Kel Reu Giri knew they were there. The Republic might guess, but he didn’t care about them. Ashara was glaring at him again; he felt her emotions flip-flopping as she tried to keep them under control. She was even more upset than he’d anticipated. Drellik fidgeted, Revel examined his blaster for dirt, and Xalek just stared. Murlesson kept his aura wrapped tightly around himself and ignored them all.

It was late, and he was too tired to go stand in lines at the spaceport, so he went to the hotel Aristheron had indicated, and booked rooms. Ashara booked her own room; she really was mad at him. It was… he was starting to feel bad. He couldn’t feel bad. He was a Sith Lord. What he’d done was minor and she was blowing it out of proportion. That person had been nobody – even mentally, he choked on the words. Ashara didn’t consider anyone ‘nobody’.

He couldn’t help but notice the people in the hotel, on the streets – fewer than seemed right for the capital of a planet, even an unimportant planet, and every one of them had hopeless eyes even if their mouths smiled and conversed. ‘Welcome to the club’, he thought. Did they know what was happening? Probably not at all. And they looked up at the sky in curiosity and fear, their hands on their hips, waiting for someone else to do something about it. He wondered if there was anyone on the Republic side actually doing anything about it. Or had they placed everything in Janelle’s hands, and by extension, in Aristheron’s?

Aristheron was waiting for him in the hotel’s restaurant, and Vany, too. They were sitting on the same side of a booth, and Murlesson fell into the seat across from them. Aristheron almost smiled to see him. “Ah, good to see you.”

“It’s just like old times! Again!” Vany said, who did actually smile. “Except you’re always wearing that spooky mask now. Why’s that?”

“It keeps the voices down,” he said, picking up the menu and scanning it rapidly. “It also gives me a little protection against whatever Giri’s doing to the Force.”

“But you’re going to eat, right?”

“Of course I’m going to eat, I’m hungry. I want the nerf steak.” He put the menu aside and slouched forward, resting his head on his arms. “And tired. Kriffing hells, I’m tired.”

“Murlesson,” Aristheron chided him.

“I don’t want to hear it today,” Murlesson said into his arms. Whether it was manners, or posture, or whatever. Ugh, Aristheron probably wouldn’t let him have alcohol, either. Was this what it was like to have a parent? Or at least an older sibling?

“I’m buying, by the way,” Aristheron said.

Murlesson lifted his head a fraction. “I got rich since we last hung out, by the way.”

“I was already rich. I’m still buying.”

He let his head slump back down. “Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Aristheron said.

“So tell us about everything!” Vany demanded cheerfully. “I mean, if you’re feeling up to it. But you must have been through a lot since, uhhh, Zeltros, and we haven’t even properly talked since weeks before that, either! So – want to trade stories?”

“Not really,” Murlesson said. “But if you want to talk at me, I won’t stop you.”

His steak showed up then, and Vette’s chowder and Aristheron’s brualki veal too, and he half-heartedly sat up and took off his mask to eat. Vany was silent for a minute, and he knew it was because of his transformed appearance. He didn’t look at her, or Aristheron, just at his food.

“Fine,” he said, just as she was going to speak. “Otherwise your curiosity is going to drill right through me and it’s terribly annoying.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, stirring her chowder somewhat aimlessly. “I don’t want to pry.”

“It’s fine.” The steak was helping, at least, and after the first few slow bites he was having to hold himself back from inhaling the rest. He felt a measure of patience returning as his belly filled. “I should probably begin with Thanaton.”

They listened, and Vette began to grow more comfortable again as he grew more comfortable, and then she told him of their exploits; of destroying a tenacious pirate gang, of accidentally running into Republic forces more than once and having to carefully extricate themselves without causing an intergalactic incident, of hunting Kel Reu Giri, of their near misses and close calls on the chase.

At last, she said she was tired, and left with a smile and a wave. Aristheron watched her go, and Murlesson watched him.

“Your feelings for her-” he began, then stopped. It wasn’t any of his business.

“Are strong?” Aristheron finished the common expression. And to Murlesson’s surprise, he smiled. “Yes, they are. She is beautiful, and spirited, the most important person in the galaxy to me, and I would not see that spirit crushed by the galaxy.”

“Do you believe in love?” Murlesson asked slowly.

Aristheron tilted his head. “Yes. Do you not?”

“I don’t know,” Murlesson said. “I haven’t seen evidence of it yet.” He hesitated a moment, then rambled on, a little bitterly. “The characters in dramas are all made up, they have no free will; what they portray appears to me to be wishful thinking. I met an Alderaanian noblewoman who claimed to have loved a Jedi for twenty years so strongly she never married, yet he claimed before I killed him that he’d talked her out of it in an hour. The only person to ever have a relationship on my crew is Revel and he and his girlfriend didn’t really give a frak about each other beyond a passing… fondness and physical attraction. But then… sometimes I see… people… who trust each other, who would… sacrifice for each other. Like Moff Pyron for his family. And even when I’m around-” He stumbled to a stop, unsure what he was saying.

“Ashara?” Aristheron asked quietly.

“It’s not love,” he said firmly, pressing his palms against the table to stop his hands shaking. “It can’t be. She says she does but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s because we’re male and female members of sexually dimorphic species, and she… thinks I’m witty sometimes. And I think she’s…” He couldn’t say any of the words he normally thought out loud. Glorious? Vibrant? Kind? When she wasn’t mad at him, and he still felt… something for her even when she was mad at him and he was so confused and he didn’t even know how to express his confusion.

“I don’t know if I can advise you,” Aristheron said. “I have much to learn, myself. Vany has requested that I not attempt to court her as I was taught was right and proper, and in the absence of that structure, those formalities… I have been lost.”

Murlesson gave him a pleading look. “But you surely know more than me simply by virtue of being older, having seen more of the galaxy.”

“She has taught me far more in a few standard months than I ever learned from the galaxy,” Aristheron said. “Have you considered asking Ashara to help you?”

Murlesson snorted. “She’s a Jedi. She doesn’t know anything about relationships, the Jedi never taught her anything useful.”

“You assume Vany knew much about relationships before she confessed her feelings to me.”

Murlesson hunched away. “Well… if she doesn’t break up with me in the near future… We fight a lot, and she’s angry about my actions today.”

“Hmm.” Aristheron thought, and happily for him, let go discussion on his actions. “What I can say about myself, and about Vany, is that if it is not love that we feel for each other, it can be, it will be with time. Love takes time to grow. It comes not with physical attraction, but with trust. And trust only comes with time, with labour, and with commitment.”

“What if I don’t trust anyone?” Murlesson asked in a low voice.

“Then it will be difficult for you to truly love,” Aristheron said. “I myself must be careful with Vany, that I do not abuse her trust in me. She taught me this quickly, though not in so many words, these things I had not considered before. That I must always be aware of that which, with anyone else, I would take for granted.”

“Like what?” Murlesson asked, bemused.

“As a Sith, and especially as a noble-born Sith, I have great power. She has neither of those – as she puts it, there is a vast power imbalance between us, that of age, gender, race, social status, and Force sensitivity. To Imperial society, she is nothing compared to me, but she is _everything_ to me – and yet, taught by society, I might treat her as less simply by habit. Yet if I am truly to love her, I must treat her as an equal. So always, I must hold in mind her autonomy, and not seek to overrule it with mine, especially since that is one of the things I love about her. Even when I seek to protect her – she has had a difficult life, and if she would let me, I would remove her from all danger, all hardship, but… she _chooses_ to be by my side instead, and I must let her. It has been… difficult, at times, for me to remember. I am fortunate that she is forgiving.”

“Huh.” It was not a way of thinking he’d thought of before, at least not from this angle – he’d always been the one without power, the one struggling to be treated as equal. He still felt Ashara had more power over him than he had over her, and yet what Aristheron said about Imperial society was very true.

“I would be her strength, her support, anything she needs,” Aristheron said quietly. “The galaxy is large and I would let her know she is not alone in it.”

Murlesson stared at him doubtfully. “That’s all very well and good for you, but the Dark Side is inherently selfish.”

Aristheron raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been angry on another’s behalf? Never been afraid for them? Have you truly only ever fought for yourself and your own survival?”

He had thought he had; even when he fought for others, it was only so he could use them later. And yet- he grew attached; he fought harder for those he’d grown attached to. He defended them when he perceived them injured, he destroyed their enemies – to soothe his own ego, certainly, but for their benefit as well.

Hatred was the odd emotion out. Hatred was all his own, the selfish, venomous fuel that drove him onwards no matter what he felt for or about other people.

“If I might share my personal philosophies with you, perhaps it would help,” Aristheron said. “Draw strength from your anger, but do not let it blind you. Let desire give you purpose, but do not submit to indulgence. Have fear fuel your determination, but do not cower.”

It helped him understand Aristheron, but did it help him understand himself? “Control the Dark Side, don’t let it control you?”

“Indeed.”

Well that wasn’t new. “But-” Murlesson began, off on a different tack already, not even sure how to word it. “How far would you go? For Vany?”

“Anything worth fighting for is worth dying for,” Aristheron said. “Any _one_ worth fighting for is worth dying for. …If it came to a choice between living without her, and dying that the galaxy would not be less for her, I would choose the latter every time.”

He thought about that for a long time.

The first conclusion he came to was that Aristheron was clearly insane, clinging to a level of idealism the Jedi found difficult to attain. Nobody would _actually_ sacrifice their life for someone else unless they were completely delusional.

The second was that even if he didn’t love Ashara to the same degree that Aristheron loved Vany, he could do a little better at making her happy. He could try.


	26. Death Knell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of interpersonal interaction in this one! May have gone a bit overboard with the ritual but… uh… I like torturing my characters haha. (trigger warning for suicide attempt D:)

Part 26: Death Knell

Murlesson, returning to his hotel room after dinner, found Xalek had followed him. “What do you want?”

“A moment to speak, Lord.”

Well, that was unusual. He let him in and went to collapse on the couch and put his feet up on it. He left his boots on; it was a bad idea to take them off these days. And hey, he didn’t have to clean the couch.

Xalek sat carefully on a chair across from him and stared at him silently for a while until Murlesson flicked an impatient glance at him. “Lord, you are a great warrior.”

Murlesson snorted derisively. “I didn’t know you knew how to use sarcasm, Xalek.”

“I do not. I sense what you endure, Lord. Many Kaleesh would falter under similar circumstances. But your will is like durasteel. You fight despite your weakness, and you win. You are ruthless to those who do not deserve your concern.”

“And that makes me a great warrior, does it?” Murlesson shrugged. “I would think it just makes me stubborn.” _Congratulations, you successfully duped the idiot Kaleesh_.

“As you said, a warrior has both strength and cunning.” Xalek fell silent, leaving Murlesson to fill in the blanks.

“Thanks. I guess.”

There was a long silence between them, then Murlesson asked: “Does that mean you’ll actually do as I say now?”

“Yes, Lord. It is my honour to serve you.” Xalek bowed, and his aura seemed… very sincere. He probed it for signs of falsehood, but there were none.

“Honour, hmm?” Honour wasn’t very useful for him. Ought he to trust Xalek’s declaration? Too easily, he felt himself falling for a mental trap of ‘the Kaleesh is a simple man, of a simple culture’ and he _knew_ that wasn’t true just because Xalek didn’t speak much and disliked reading. He was odd to feel in the Force, showing neither hatred, nor anger, nor fear, only a cold, determined stillness. It was unsettling even now, but it was different than before. Less forbidding than it had been before. Was it because Xalek had finally pledged himself to him? He still fully intended not to trust him – not until he’d proved himself more. “I don’t fight with honour. It would get me killed. I don’t recommend it.” _Wait, why are you being honest with the fool? If he fails to see through you that’s his own fault_.

“You fight with enough,” Xalek said. “You try to impress the Jedi girl and the other Lord.”

Murlesson frowned uneasily. “Is it real if I don’t mean it? If I would break it immediately if it were profitable to me?”

Xalek hesitated. “I believe you are not entirely without real honour, Lord. Somewhere.”

“What a lovely vote of confidence,” Murlesson said, hauling himself to his feet and heading for the refresher. “Wishful thinking on your part, but you’re stuck with me. You make things too simple.”

“And you make things too complicated,” Xalek said. Murlesson whipped around, wondering if he had just made a joke, and caught a flash of white teeth behind the bone mask. Xalek had just made almost a joke.

“Yes,” Murlesson said, wondering how to react, then falling back into wryness. “You’re not wrong. And I suppose I talk too much, too.”

“Yes, Lord.”

He snorted. “Well then, you can be my simple blade. I’ll wield you for combat, not for subterfuge.”

“I would have it no other way, Lord.”

He came out of the refresher to find Xalek had gone and Ashara was pacing in his place; he could feel her writhing emotions from behind the door and was… sort of prepared to see her.

“Murlesson!” she said before he could even ask how she got in. “We have to talk about the lightning.”

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

She huffed. “Jumped from my balcony to yours. Stop electrocuting people! Innocent people! There was no reason to do that!” _There were very good reasons. Such as ‘he was aggravating’_.

“He was taking too long!” Murlesson said defensively. “We lost the target anyway, if you had let me start with that we wouldn’t have had that delay.”

“You-!” She fumed, clenched her fists, was clearly trying to keep herself from exploding. Her aura swirled like the stormclouds outside, glimmering dully, shadowed with her emotions. “Do you realize how much _therapy_ that guy is going to need? _Unnecessary_ therapy! We’re here to help people, not hurt them!”

He almost snapped off a retort about Sith, but swallowed it, gritting his teeth instead. He was trying to be good. _Good is overrated_. “And I suppose you would have caught up to Giri by asking nicely?”

She stomped her foot. “I realize you think the end always justifies the means, but not if the means are evil! You really need to stop! Just… stop being cruel to people! I know you don’t actually like it!”

He snarled, though she couldn’t see his bared teeth through his mask, and began to prowl through the living space around her; she kept pace with him, looking ready to fight for real. “What I like doesn’t matter! Sure, the things I do are terrible by normal people standards and cause me pain when I let myself think about them, but I’m still weak by Sith standards. Cowardly! Indecisive! Ineffective! And it’s because of _you_ , because I _do try_ , I didn’t use to hesitate like this. _You’ve_ taken my ability to be ruthless-”

“That’s a _frakking_ lie!” she screamed over him. She was really mad if she was swearing with real swears. “I’ve done nothing like that to you! Whatever you felt, it started before you met me! All this talk of ‘necessity’, that’s a frakking lie and you know it! Why are you _like this!?_ You’re better than this!”

“Are you trying to redeem me again? Before I die or something? How the frak can I be ‘redeemed’ when I’ve never been ‘deemed’?” he said sarcastically. “I refuse to be a frakking Jedi, so what the frak do you want from me!?” _She wants your obedience; she wants control. All Jedi do_.

“Why the frak do I love you!?” she screamed. “You’re the most selfish, mean, arrogant _jerk_ I ever met-”

“Just go away if you’re just going to call me names!” he yelled, Darkness seething around him with fury and pain, barely under his control. “Leave me alone!”

She stared at him for a minute, panting, then jumped out the window.

He collapsed to his knees on the floor, his head in his hands, and he couldn’t tell if the screaming sounds were in his head or in his throat.

No. He couldn’t lose control here. Too many people. Tomorrow, in the wilderness, looking for Giri’s trail. He could vent then. He choked his emotions down, past his unevenly thumping hearts, swallowing his misshapen aura back into hiding.

He needed caf. He wasn’t resting now. He had to get to work. Gods, it hurt so much, why did her anger hurt so much?

He fled to the Viper – he still couldn’t freak out completely there; even without Zash working away in the conference room, there were still people outside. The port might run on the same time as Heley City but it was never quiet.

Still, it was quiet inside his cabin, and familiar. The slightly musty smell of his sheets, the faint hum of the air conditioning, the soft glow of holocrons, it comforted him.

 _Comfort won’t help you, boy_ , said one of the hissing whispers that never stopped. He was starting to lose the ability to tell them apart. More terrifying, he was starting to see shadowy shapes around him out of the corner of his eye when he was alone and in the dark. _Not when we’re so close._

He pulled off his gloves and began unwinding his bandages to check on his deterioration. The darkening extended up to his wrists now, black threads winding up his forearms; it was similar with his feet and ankles and shins. As he peeled the stained cloth away from his fingertips, drops of blood rolled down his fingers. The tips of his fingers were crumbling away, cell by blackened cell, and while they scabbed over under the bandages temporarily, they ripped open again whenever he changed the bandages. It was depressing, taking showers and watching the drain swirl with thin crimson trails, knowing he was leaking constantly. But it threatened to fester if he just left the bandages on; the chief medic on the Acrimonious, once she had the vaguest understanding of where his affliction came from, had recommended keeping them clean over keeping them closed. He wondered what sort of zombie he would turn into if it went on long enough – legless, armless, rotted skin, snarling mindlessly at any unfortunate enough to approach – but he would die of blood loss or dehydration first, surely. The pain was constant and even the strongest painkillers in the medbay did little to keep it under control. And he was taking too many; he didn’t dare check what his liver thought of it all.

He hoped Zash would find something soon. He was running out of time.

 _Zash won’t get rid of us. You will never be rid of us_.

“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly remind me.”

 _Your struggling is embarrassing. We’re only trying to make it easier for everyone. But when your time is up, we’ll take over. We’ll show you how to be a true Sith, remorseless and strong. You can’t be a good Sith_ and _a ‘good’ person_.

“Fine,” he hissed, tearing off his mask and stomping over to the mirror. “Fine, I’ll bite. I _am_ a true Sith. I’m certainly no Jedi.” His eyes darkened dangerously, the Force flaring around him.

_Oho, he speaks to us directly! We were so lonely, you know, all these weeks of being ignored or told to shut up like pests…_

“You are pests, you Force-damned parasites.”

 _Is it his friend that inspires him? His friend has given him strength, given him some of his teeth back, even if he’s not a true Sith_.

“You take that back.” That was… probably true, except for the part about – Aristheron was a Sith in spirit even if he leaned into the Light, how dare they. But seeing Aristheron, being able to talk to his oldest friend about some of the things weighing him down had reminded him more of who he used to be.

 _Who you used to be? Pfa, don’t make me laugh. You used to be at least a little more vicious, more relentless, your hatred more raw and festering. Now you simply wallow in your misery and run away_. The pressure in his head grew stronger and he gritted his teeth at their wordless assault.

He snarled at the mirror. “And whose fault is that, hmm? You think my hatred has weakened? I don’t care what you think. I have my goals, and hatred drives them inexorably.” Just because he wasn’t a powerless bit of sentient debris getting actively abused anymore didn’t mean there wasn’t still a wellspring of Darkness inside him. Fueled by them themselves! Did they mistake depression for passivity? How could they, when they were stuck inside his head and could hear every thought?

 _The girl has weakened you. I thought she had potential for great Darkness but it seems I was wrong. She’s hamstrung you, left you paralyzed between your mission and your lust. You’re NICE_.

He let out a noise that might be construed as a sarcastic laugh. “You think I’ve _ever_ had the luxury of doing what I want and how I want? Pleasing her is just another complication on top of the many others I’ve always had to deal with.”

 _An impossible complication. And an unnecessary one. How many times must we tell you? You cannot destroy Thanaton – destroy your enemies – destroy all Sith, if you truly wish to, though you’ll never make it – while restraining yourself to suit other people. You told them so yourself_.

“I can do it, you infernal busybodies.”

 _And here I thought you were smart… I think you don’t want the power to truly do as you will. It terrifies you, the responsibility of absolute freedom. To have to make real decisions for yourself and yourself alone. That is what it means to be Sith, and that is why you are weak_. The pressure spiked and he slid down to his knees, one arm holding himself up by the sink, the other hand pressed to his face, smearing blood on it. Cold sweat washed over him and he couldn’t help a whimper.

His voice was hoarse, ground out through his teeth with fast quick breaths. “You’re wrong! And you think I should listen to you, to let _you_ tell me what to do? How big a fool do you think I am? Like hell am I going to let _you_ make decisions for me!”

 _You_ are _a fool! So you’re going to waste all your efforts, everything you’ve done so far, to please the girl? She will never truly accept you – she may say it with her words, but her spirit cries out against you. You will never be ‘good’ enough for her, and even if you somehow managed to cast us out, you wouldn’t last long among the Sith. Not anymore_.

“I kill whomever needs killing. I killed Ten-!”

_And have been wracked with guilt ever since, amazing, delicious, soul-piercing guilt. No. You are strong in your weaknesses… and oh-so-weak in your strengths._

It was a terrifying thought and he was almost starting to believe it. Had he lost track of his original goal? No. He still wanted to wipe the Sith from the galaxy – to destroy anyone who could hurt him – but it was going to be harder. What they said sounded very plausible: that it would be impossible without making an impossible choice. “That’s not your concern. I’ll kill you before I kill them! You’ll never see me win because you’ll be _dead! Again_ , by the way!”

_I don’t know what delusion you’ve drawn your hope from. Must we remind you again? You think you’re the puppeteer, but you’re just the puppet!_

“I will evict you from my skull even if it means splitting it open and tearing you out myself!” Murlesson howled, and immediately made a high-pitched squeal of agony and frustration as torment ripped through him. He thrashed and writhed and kicked, blind, deaf, and numb to everything except the pain, the laughter inside his head.

_You’re a defiant little boy. It’s so much fun to play with you now you’ve got a little energy back._

He flailed in the direction of where he’d dropped his mask. “All right, talk’s over!” He slammed it back on his head; it grated against his horns but the effect, while marginal, was enough to give him a sensation of relief, though he still had to lie and moan for a bit. This was why he never talked to them.

Lieutenant Talos Drellik entered the Viper’s cargo hold the day after the unsuccessful ambush to make sure his tools were all in order for Lord Kallig’s expedition in the afternoon. Most important were his various cameras, and to ensure he had enough data storage for both stills and holofilm. No archaeologist ever knew how much was ‘enough’ when venturing to an unexplored site, so it was always better to have too much than too little, but Lord Kallig was so very generous with his funds. He was confident he would be fine, at least for a couple days. If the expedition proved to be long enough to last, Emperor willing, a whole week, Lord Kallig would certainly allow him to acquire more. It was so delightful to work for someone who _really_ valued his expertise and passion!

And on to the simple tools, the brushes, trowels, hammers and chisels and others, but those were easily placed in order. It would take a little longer to go through his collection of scanners and samplers, especially since some of them were very new, never used yet-

He heard a sound and jumped and gasped, spinning to see – a black-shrouded lump behind one of the crates on the other side of the hold. “M-my lord, is that you?”

The lump raised its head, and he saw Lord Kallig’s mask, looking ominous as usual. But then Kallig groaned and pulled the mask off, and Drellik saw his face for the first time in weeks – tired, sickly sunken and shadowed, alien yellow eyes listless and… perhaps more red-rimmed than usual? “Drellik.”

“H-how long have you been here, my lord?”

“I’m not sure,” Kallig confessed weakly. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Ten hours, perhaps? I wanted to get away from… people.”

“I… I see.” He’d heard shouting from his master’s hotel room the previous evening, but he’d tried to ignore it. It wasn’t his business. “Can I help at all?” The poor boy looked so… defeated. Heartbroken, almost. Heartbroken was probably exactly the right word, actually. If this was about Kallig’s callousness towards civilians, Drellik was firmly on Ashara’s side, Jedi were actually delightful people to have around – but he didn’t like to see him having such an upsetting lovers’ quarrel, either.

“I don’t know,” Kallig mumbled, his head rolling forwards onto his chest. “I know Zash is in the other room with all her research spread out over the conference table, but I’m _not_ talking to her about _this_ … I suppose I’m not talking to you about Sith philosophy, either. Drellik, what do you know about… girls?”

Oh dear. Well, he’d expected as much. “Er… not terribly much, to tell you the truth, my lord. I can listen if you care to tell me, but I can’t promise to have any useful advice.”

“You’ve never had a relationship?”

“I’m afraid not. I was, er, known as rather a geek throughout my education, and after I entered the Service, well… not many women joined the Service to begin with, and those who did weren’t interested in me. But it’s all right! I have found my work very fulfilling, and you never know, perhaps someday I will meet a like-minded partner. …But I don’t suppose that is very helpful to you.”

“I like her,” Kallig muttered towards the floor. “I like her and I want to make her happy and I kriffed up yesterday and now she hates me.”

Drellik found a smallish crate and sat on it near the young man. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t think she actually hates you, though.” If Kallig thought he had done wrong, that was an immense step forward. Drellik had always guessed the boy was a good boy in a bad situation – he did right by his subordinates, for one thing, even if he insisted on calling them all ‘minions’. Few other Sith Lords would have tolerated Drellik, let alone encouraged him to indulge in what he did best, or, Emperor forbid, treated him occasionally as a _friend_. Kallig must be horribly lonely, so young and already so powerful, and power did not invite true friendship; Drellik couldn’t imagine it.

Kallig heaved as if he were trying not to sob. “You weren’t there. You didn’t sense her emotions.”

“Did she say she hates you?”

“No… But she might as well have.”

“Did she leave? I know she didn’t try to fight you. I do believe even I would have noticed that.”

“No… not before I left, anyway. She’s probably left by now. Or if she didn’t, she’s only staying because stopping Giri is more important. I don’t want her to leave. Everyone leaves or dies eventually and I can’t stop it.”

“If she hasn’t gone yet, then you still have hope,” Drellik said, trying to be comforting. This was all rather heavy. “There’s still time to apologize.”

Kallig sort of half-crawled, half-rolled out of his corner to slump against the side of the crate Drellik was sitting on. “How do I apologize for such heavy sins? How do I ask forgiveness without another fight breaking out between us? While she’s angry, she won’t listen to me even if I’m not trying to start anything.”

“Perhaps you could try beginning by text transmission?” Drellik suggested, completely out of his depth. He’d never seen his master this low-spirited since he’d failed to defeat Darth Thanaton, and it really wrung his heart. Especially since it was in matters of the heart; he’d hoped the two young people would be able to find happiness together, but perhaps they were too young?

“If she’s left then I’ll just look desperate.”

“If you like her that much, my lord, it shouldn’t matter.”

Kallig was silent a while. “You’re right. That’s my pride talking. When did it get so big?”

He _was_ fond of the young man, but his pride had been _quite_ large enough for a while. Except in matters of archaeology, when he was more than willing to learn. But Drellik ought to be lenient, the boy was still very inexperienced, and romantic relationships were notoriously difficult to navigate. “I must say, I don’t think flowers and sweets will really be persuasive… but it might help a little bit? It’s traditional, after all.”

“I realize it isn’t as good an apology as changing my ways, but I don’t know how to prove I want to change-” Kallig cut off as if embarrassed. “I do want to, no matter what these psychos say. I’ve decided I do. I _am_ still a Sith! But I… For her…” He stopped. “I can’t make promises. I’m scared to change.”

“I understand,” Drellik said.

“I spent all last night thinking and thinking and fighting with my parasites and at the very least, I can try to treat others in a way that pleases her. If it doesn’t interfere with – or sometimes it could interfere – it depends on the situation and I… I don’t… What do I do!?”

“What is it in particular that you wish for, my lord?” Drellik asked gently. “The first step in solving a problem is to identify it.”

Kallig spoke slowly, as if re-evaluating everything before he said it. “I… I want these idiot ghosts out of my skull, first of all. I won’t know peace until they’re gone. Or while Thanaton pursues me. And then… once they’re all gone… I want to… to go somewhere… safe… and… read, and _sleep_ … gods, I want to sleep – and just… I would want her nearby, to talk to, and watch holos with, and hold on to, if she’ll let me, just so I can see her happy… She’s beautiful when she’s happy.” Kallig slumped to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself and rolling around, making distressed little noises. “I wish I could make her happy, but I don’t think there’s much chance of that…”

Drellik really had no idea what to say. The word ‘safe’ had tugged his heartstrings – when, indeed, had this boy ever felt safe?

“Especially since I don’t know what other cruelties I’ll do in pursuit of Thanaton – indeed, what I’ll do to him once I fight him. Yes, I realize I’m getting ahead of myself, you’re still in here, shut up. I don’t know what atrocities I’d stoop to in order to get _you_ out of here. And is it my habit of thinking the quickest route is the best, or do I really have no choice? Am I sincere in wanting to change, or is it just because I feel bad right now? How do I tell until it comes to a point, and if I don’t know, how can I give her an honest answer the way she wants?” He curled up into a lanky ball. “It’s hopeless, I may as well just off myself.”

“Now then, my lord,” Drellik said; he never failed to be alarmed when Kallig threatened suicide, even if half the time it was an attempt at black humour. “She certainly won’t be pleased by that.”

“She said that before, but we never had such a fight before. Strange, isn’t it,” and Kallig’s voice drifted off to a dreamy murmur, “we should have had far more to fight about, opposites as we are, and yet _now_ is the time that we threaten to fall apart?”

He sat up suddenly. “It is strange, actually. I think we can blame Giri. Did you feel any different on the planet?”

“Er…” Drellik thought. “Now that you mention it, I was feeling a bit… I’m not sure how to put it, my lord. Irritable and despondent? But just a little. I thought it was the weather and seeing what he has done to the planet.”

“He’s not just doing things to the planet, but to everyone on it, including us while we’re there.” Kallig flopped back down. “But that didn’t _cause_ me to torture that man. It didn’t cause me to fight with Ashara. It just made it worse.” He sighed long; he looked so very tired. “And I’m sorry for dumping this on you. You don’t need all this… teenage whinging.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, my lord,” Drellik assured him. “That’s what I’m here for, to help out however I can.”

“Worse than a kriffing holodrama,” Kallig muttered to himself. “Thank you for listening.”

“Do you know what you will do, then?”

“Sort of. But I’m not going to do it yet. You…” Kallig’s voice sank nearly into obscurity. “You’re important to me, too. Thank you for… for… er… stuff.”

“You’re welcome, my lord,” Drellik said, trying not to let on too much how his chest flooded with warmth at the confession. Kallig was like the nephew he’d never had, and to know that perhaps he felt the same was deeply gratifying. “I’m truly glad to be with you.”

Ashara showed up with Xalek and Revel two hours later, when he’d asked them all to return to the Viper. He didn’t know what to say to her, and her aura was still clouded and her face was still frowning as she walked past him to the holoprojector. At least she was still there. The thought of her leaving had grown like a cancer in his chest. He had once said she could leave whenever she wanted, but the thought she might leave because he drove her out had become unbearable, adding yet another kind of pain to his constant existence of agony. _How melodramatic. You’re a sentimental fool_.

He had to deal with it later. Business first. “I had intended for you all to help plan the mission this afternoon, but I’ve already figured out where Giri is going on these little adventures so this is more of a briefing than a planning.”

“Great!” Revel said. “I like when we know what we’re doing.”

He wouldn’t go that far. “You weren’t there when I met with Aristheron, but he mentioned that Giri had just come from a world called Voss. Voss is extremely obscure, but rumour has it that there is a great concentration of Dark Side energy in the wild places of that planet. The Voss natives are, in contrast, either completely and utterly Force-deaf, or Light-leaning, even if stubbornly neutral politically. Aristheron informs me that Giri did not appear to spend much time with either faction; therefore, I believe he was investigating this Dark Side concentration.” _I think we should go there when we’re done here. It sounds most intriguing_.

Drellik put up a hand. “Do you know anything of the history of this concentration?”

“Very little, though I believe it’s the source of his knowledge of this little ritual he’s building. But I know why he’s come here.” Murlesson began to pace restlessly. “Salvara, beneath the corruption he’s forced onto it, does not feel terribly Dark, does it?”

Ashara was silent. “No, Lord,” Xalek said just before he was going to pretend the question was rhetorical and move on.

“No, it doesn’t. But it did use to belong to the Laskaris family. With Aristheron’s help, I’ve acquired an esoteric text on the distant history of Salvara… and lucky for us, it came with a map.” He let himself smile in grim satisfaction at the one thing that had gone conveniently right in a while. “Care to guess what Giri’s been up to?”

“Visiting ancient Sith temples, my lord!” Drellik said.

“You and your temples,” Revel grumbled. “I know you’re probably right, but can’t you think about anything else?”

“You’re exactly right,” Murlesson said. Drellik had helped him figure it out, after all. “He’s found a way to connect the focii of the forgotten, undisturbed Dark places of this world, and in doing so to tip its balance. To what end this aids him, besides making me grouchier than usual planetside, I haven’t discovered yet… But I think it is important to point out that they were not built in any particular pattern. They were constructed as the world’s early Sith inhabitants spread organically across the continents. That means there is no easy way to disrupt his entire ritual at once, but it also means any temple is as good as another to visit first.”

“Can’t we just blow them up, if we get to be in a hurry?” Revel asked.

“It would be nice, but no,” Murlesson said. “You can’t just ‘blow up’ the Dark Side, the Force. It lingers until a counter-influence actively attempts to neutralize it or replace it or balance it or whatever you want to call it. It would lessen the site’s effectiveness a bit, certainly, and with time it _would_ fade if the physical anchors were completely destroyed, but the site was already forgotten and weak. He’d just work around it.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Revel said. “Where am I flying?”

“The closest one to Heley City is here,” Murlesson said, pointing it out on the map. “I will be going in to impose my will over Giri’s, to return the currents back to their original state. Drellik will be going to take pictures. Everyone else is going as security. I may not be able to fight while dealing with the Force, and I have no idea what we’ll find.”

“Will Za- er, Khem… or both, be coming?” Revel asked.

“That’s up to her,” Murlesson said. “I don’t think either of them will be necessary until we fight Giri himself, and what she’s doing right now is important to me, but if she deems this important enough to come along, she will. She knows about it, if that’s your next question.”

“Well, I’ve got my orders, and my coordinates,” Revel said. “Are we ready to go?”

Murlesson nodded. “Launch when ready.”

As the others left, he caught Ashara’s eye and indicated the engine room. She glared at him, but moved in that direction.

Alone, with the door closed behind him, he felt his throat constrict and swallowed. It didn’t help.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. How difficult those two little words were to say! _How dare you debase yourself enough to say them_.

She huffed and folded her arms. “Are you?”

“I am.” _No you’re not_.

Her eyes narrowed. “Take your mask off and say it.”

He reached up and removed it. _You’re whipped, pathetic boy_. “I’m sorry.” He really was, whatever the voices said. He was even quieter this time, and he couldn’t keep his gaze focused on her eyes, but she seemed to soften.

“Well, I’m still upset with you.”

“I know.” _This is why you shouldn’t bother trying_.

She shuffled and made an unhappy noise, fidgeting with her hands. “Actually, I… don’t know how to say this, but I think we should take a break.”

Ice dropped into his stomach. One of his worst fears, the one he’d tried to avoid. “I-”

She was suddenly much gentler. “It’s not just this whole… thing. It’s also… our relationship flies in the face of the Jedi order, the Jedi code. And the Jedi code is the way I’ve lived my whole life.” She paused, fumbling for words. “I’m… sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I know you’ve been hurt enough. But I don’t know how else to live. And I’m scared.”

That made two of them. He turned away, hearts pounding, and gripped the safety railing with both trembling hands. “Please. I… I need you.” _Fear is of the Dark Side… but I sense this is not the chance we’ve been waiting for_.

“Surely you don’t need a Jedi-”

“I don’t need a Jedi. I need you.” The thought of having to fight everything alone was too terrifying to contemplate. Sure, she would still be present, probably, but it wasn’t the same. “Just a while longer. Perhaps you don’t believe me, but I want to do better for you.” _Weak!_

He heard her gasp and take a few unsteady steps closer to him. “…Really?”

“I can’t promise I’ll succeed,” he mumbled. “But I will try. I did so much thinking, and you’re important to me…”

She came right up to him, and he nervously turned to face her – but her face was filled with an anxious wonder and concern. “I really wasn’t expecting that. I… I guess I’ll stay. And… thank you, for agreeing to try.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled uncertainly. “I… don’t want to fight like that again. I fight with enough people as it is.” _Coward! Cut her out of your life before she can hurt you again!_

“I’ll try and be patient,” she said, breathing deeply as if starting right away.

“I knew you were angry but I didn’t expect you’d be that angry. You didn’t react that way when I catapulted someone across Commenor.”

“Well, I regret not doing more then, I still feel guilty about that guy even if he was an asshole. I don’t think he deserved to die. I failed my principles as a Jedi. I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

She shook a finger at him. “No more murdering people, okay? Only kill in fair combat.” _HOW DARE-_

“But I only engage in unfair combat if at all poss-” She gave him a Look and he raised his hands submissively. “All right. I’ll only murder people fairly. And assassinate people who deserve it for the greater good. And if they hurt me. And if they try and hurt you.”

She sighed, but it was with exasperation. “Are you going to even try at all?”

“Yes, I promise.” He hung his head. “I want you to be happy with me. I’m… strong enough that I don’t need to take brutal shortcuts anymore. Like you said.” Probably, anyway. _YOU’RE A TAMED, WHIPPED, NEUTERED WEAKLING_. He gritted his teeth and ignored them.

“Thank you for listening to me,” she said. “I really will try to be patient and not expect you to change all at once. And if there’s anything I can do to support you…”

“Positive reinforcement might be nice,” he said. “It would be a novelty, anyway.”

“I would be glad to- You’ve never had positive reinforcement?” She looked and sounded shocked out of proportion with what he was expecting. Again.

“I guess Zash… rewarded me… when I did well in school… -oh! Of course, she gave me this ship when I killed Skotia for her. …Also so I could go fetch her artefacts so she could try to steal my body. So it certainly wasn’t altruistic.” He thought for a while. “Not much else coming to mind. Aristheron when teaching me to fight, once or twice, perhaps. I’ve had to generate my own rewards.” _As Sith ought to do. She knows nothing_.

“Oh… Murlesson…” She reached up, put her hands on his shoulders to lean in to kiss him-

 _None of that!_ Before she got anywhere near his mouth, sharp pain lanced through his head and he collapsed with a sharp cry. “ _Frak_. Oh, frak, it hurts…”

“I’m so sorry!” She wrung her hands beside him, then let out a short laugh that suggested she’d rather cry. “How am I supposed to help if I can’t touch you?”

“Just… be near me,” he grit out, massaging his head uselessly around the horns above his temples, then putting his mask back on. “Support me. I won’t let them win.”

“Okay,” she said. “For the record, it’s a lot easier to support you when you’re being less ‘lordly’. Any chance you can ease up on that, at least until you kick them out?”

“I’ll try.” _You will never win. You’re only going to sink further into enervation and insipidness_.

“Then I’ll do my best.”

He nodded and pulled himself wearily to his feet. “Let’s get ready to go.”

The temple that was their destination was deep in a forest, completely submerged in trees and nearly inaccessible – but there was a river nearby, and that thinned the trees enough for Revel to put down about a ten-minute walk away. He was the slowest of the band that set out from the Viper; Xalek was out ahead with Revel, and then Drellik with a bulging backpack of equipment, and then Ashara with another sack, and then him, lagging behind.

There was just something _wrong_ about this planet; whatever Giri was doing, it was translating into an extra pressure in his head and chest, a buzzing, a presence that seemed to weigh down his body physically. Was it even worse than before because he was closer to one of Giri’s nexuses here? He could barely breathe, and with his head already messed up and his body falling apart, he was not going to be up to physical combat today. Just walking to the nexus was going to be triumph enough. _Pathetic. You think you can barely walk!?_ “Maybe if I weren’t carrying four jackasses piggyback, it would be easier,” he snarked softly.

Ahead, a worn stone door gaped among the tree roots, carved with ancient symbols of strength. The gloom within smelled damp and mossy and of death and putrid rot. As Revel hefted a powerful flashlight, it became apparent why: Giri must have butchered the temple’s animal inhabitants. There was a large pile of fur on one side of the first chamber, buzzing with indigenous flies and uninviting to further investigation.

What he wanted was further in, anyway. He directed the others to continue straight ahead.

 _Sometimes you remind me of me,_ said one of the ghosts in his head, and he looked around to see the shadowy form of a Togruta wandering beside him. Kalatosh Zavros, then. _I was once a Jedi, full of spit and fire – for peace, of course, until eternity showed me that peace is, as you Sith say, a lie_.

He wondered if there was a point to this, why Kalatosh was talking to him in the first place when surely he was the one who hated him the most.

 _Hate you? What, for having eyes for my descendant? No. I hate you for binding me. I simply don’t think you’re good enough for her_.

Then what?

 _We_ are _similar, more than the others. Give me control and I’ll cast them out. I don’t care for them much either_.

A tempting offer, but he’d rather keep his sanity.

 _You didn’t have much to begin with. Your mind’s been warping since you were born, since you were ripped away from your wretched mother, hasn’t it? You can barely resist my control as it is_. Kalatosh began to reach for him, for his head-

“No!” he gritted out, and the others turned sharply at his outburst – then realized it was just the ghosts again and kept walking reluctantly as he waved them onwards. Anyway, he wouldn’t make that deal with _himself_ , let alone someone who most definitely did not have his best interest in mind.

 _Stubborn. Pity. We would have done great things together_.

“Shut up now, I need to concentrate.”

They had finally reached a larger chamber; one of the back corners was revealed to be collapsed in the light of Drellik’s lamp and Revel’s flashlight. The damage looked old, and the Force did not convey immediate danger to him. But the Dark Side here… it was a knot, a lump, a miniature spiritual black hole that filled the chamber and radiated out across the planet. Even Xalek seemed bothered by it, if he read his body language and Force sense correctly, and Xalek was very comfortable with Darkness.

He closed his eyes, reaching out into the physical and mental Darkness, feeling how the Force flowed through the ruin, into it, out of it, around it. This wasn’t something that could be academically studied – not easily, at least – and he had no idea what he was doing. But taking a good look at the situation couldn’t be a bad idea.

“Did he fall asleep?” he heard Revel whisper to Drellik, sounding much louder than it ought to with his heightened senses. The click of Drellik’s camera sounded like a gundark trap springing.

“Absolutely not,” he said, and heard Revel snort. “You try looking at invisible things and tell me what you see.”

“I’ll pass, I’m good,” Revel said.

He finally opened his eyes again. “Ashara, let’s have those artefacts.”

“Right here,” she said. “How do you want them?”

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s try a few things.” Worst case scenario, the Dark Side broke free of Giri’s influence and his control and killed them all, but much more likely, absolutely nothing would happen except he’d wave his hands and look foolish. Or maybe something in between – it killed him and left the others alone. That would be fine, then he wouldn’t have to put up with all this druk anymore.

He’d brought artefacts that amplified will, artefacts that channeled the Force into conduits more easily. He wasn’t sure it would work on something this dense, but he directed Ashara to place them around the edges of the room. He wanted the Force to rest passively here, not to gather and spout forth. _I almost think we should gather it into ourselves, but I don’t think this body can handle that_.

When it was ready, he braced himself and walked straight into the heart of the concentration. It enfolded him into itself, welcoming, threatening to siphon his strength and send it out to poison the world like the rest. He glanced in the vague direction of the others. “Get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Drellik asked.

Murlesson reached out with both hands and _pushed_. Lightning crackled, flashing through his closed eyelids. It was so massive… heavy… cold…

Ashara cried out and her lightsabers hummed to life; Xalek’s after hers. He opened his eyes a crack, saw strange dark monsters attacking his companions. They were more present through his metaphysical senses than his physical ones; they were manifestations of the Force, drawn from their own minds, attacking the intruders who would dare tamper with their lair. Ashara slashed one and it poofed into nothing.

He couldn’t worry about that. They could take care of themselves. And they would have to take care of him. All his attention was on untangling the gigantic knot around him. He still had no idea what he was doing, relying now on instinct. He heard Revel’s blaster go off rapidly; they certainly sounded busy.

Darkness curled around him, trying to drown him. It sang, silently deafening, an inaudible roar, thousands of years of a planet’s worth of tragedy and rage all coming to the singular point of his mind as he touched it and he almost screamed under its weight. How could he, so young, so fragile, carry these feelings, let alone dissipate them?

He gritted his teeth and hissed. It was too soon to be screaming. He was of Darkness; it flowed through his veins; it was the cold poison that yet slept in his belly. It couldn’t take him! The wind was rising and electricity was flickering through the darkness but it wouldn’t stop him. His hearts were rushing in his ears as he strained against the weight, reaching out for the artefacts he’d placed before. It needed to _go_ somewhere _else_ and settle! It didn’t belong here! There was no anchor strong enough here, half of it was simply held in place by its own metaphysical gravity. It was starting to give way, and he panted as he fought it. It seemed to fight back, worming its way into his mind – but that was already occupied.

For once, his parasites would be useful, they had to or be destroyed with him, and the uncontrollable strength that had possessed him when he tried to fight Thanaton suddenly surged up. His body flexed helplessly in its grip, and only the fact that they were sort of working _with_ him let him connect to all the artefacts. None of them knew what they were doing, but it was happening anyway. He cried out with a million voices, the voices of all those who had died here, himself a conduit for all their emotions – and the knot burst.

A mighty wind crashed around him, directed by the artefacts, rushing out towards the exit of the temple, and suddenly – tranquility. The Darkness pooled around him, no longer savage, and he stumbled sideways and nearly fell if not for Ashara. It felt old, worn, faintly breathing of forgotten sorrow, of undirected hatred. Whatever had happened here, it no longer remembered itself.

“I-is it over?” Drellik asked breathlessly. “That was quite exciting!”

“It’s over,” Murlesson confirmed, opening his eyes. And flinched; all four ghosts were standing next to him, visible in a faint glow in the darkness.

Ashara saw them too, and whirled on Kalatosh. “Okay, all four of you are incredibly rude, but you’re the _most_ rude. Knock it off!”

Kalatosh just chuckled as they faded back into the shadows.

“Oh… I couldn’t get a picture,” Drellik said, sounding disappointed. So the others could see them as well, not just the Force-sensitives.

Murlesson was too tired to care. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance. You can head back. I’ll just double check.” And he’d pick up the artefacts, the ones that were still intact. And probably the broken ones as well, they still had historical value even if their metaphysical essence was destroyed.

“I’ll stay with you,” Ashara said. “No falling over!”

It was going to be impossible to obey that injunction, with his knees feeling as noodly as they did. “Just… give me a minute.”

He returned to the Viper, again behind the others, shedding equipment the moment he stepped off the boarding ramp – artefacts, water bottle, even his lightsaber – heading to collapse in his cabin… but found Zash in his way. “I… have news,” she said.

Her tone struck foreboding into him and for a moment, he wouldn’t let himself think about it. Maybe he was reading her body language wrong. “What is it?”

Zash’s voice and face were gentle, as much as they could be filtered through Khem’s body. “I’m sorry, Murlesson. I don’t think there’s a cure for your condition.”

“What?” Ashara said, before the full import of what she’d said sank into him. “No, that can’t be right. The Force has an answer for everything. Especially a Force-specific condition. We just did something completely nuts down there ourselves. Surely…?” Behind her, Drellik froze, his mouth falling open in anxious distress; Revel’s face grew very grim, and Xalek hovered uncertainly.

“I wish it were otherwise, I really do. But everyone who’s written about voices in their head, about their body decaying like this, died before finding an answer. No one’s ever taken in four ghosts before.”

“But what about-” Ashara began. “We were looking at- What about the guy who was trying to go into the Force-”

Zash shook her head. “He died.”

“What about the guy who was looking for the machine? Even if there’s a small chance it works, we should take it! We’re not just going to let him _die_!”

“It will kill him. It was always a risk. We just didn’t know how much.”

He’d weighed that risk when he started out, when he was still doing research on his grandfather, when Thanaton had first asked him to go die in a hole. He’d thought it acceptable then… but he hadn’t planned for the very worst, that there would be no solution. Like Ashara, he hadn’t thought it possible. _May we say we told you so?_

“No, no, no!” Ashara said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I refuse to accept this! Not now!”

Zash sighed. “I don’t know what else to say, Ashara.” But her gaze was steady on him, trying to gauge his reaction. Ashara burst into tears.

He took the mask off. He was having trouble breathing with it on. His voice was very small. “…Really?”

“I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. If there is a solution, it was never documented. Everything that everyone tried ended up killing them, and those were the lucky ones. You can die slowly to their corruption, or you can die quickly trying something that doesn’t work.”

Caught in a cage of death any way he turned. “There isn’t a way to fix it.”

“No. There is no cure.”

For a moment, everything was silent as ice settled into his soul. Even the ghosts were quiet. He would have thought they would gloat. Maybe this was their way of gloating, watching him finally, utterly break.

Everyone heard the clatter of his mask on the floor and the snap-buzz of his lightsaber from where he’d tossed it onto the table earlier. The others gasped; Ashara screamed and threw herself at him, tackling him to the floor.

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted in his face, her tears dripping on him. “Don’t! Not now! Not after everything!”

“Ashara-! You’re-!” He could pull the lightsaber to himself, but she was in the way.

“I’m not moving!” she told him, pinning him down to the decking. “If you try and kill yourself, you’ll kill me too!”

And he couldn’t kill Ashara, no matter what. He wasn’t that far gone… yet. _If you can kill yourself, you can kill her. What, she’s more important to you than your own life? Go ahead, I dare you. Do it!_

He thumped his head on the floor to make them shut up. “Stop it!”

“No,” she said, though he hadn’t been talking to her. “I will not. You can’t do this, even when it seems like there’s no hope left.”

Tears were beginning to run down from his eyes, catching in his ears. He was regretting having taken his mask off, now everyone could see every shred of emotion that wracked him. “There _isn’t_ any hope left! I’m already dead! Everything I do is useless!” _Now you truly understand, boy_.

“No it isn’t, and no you aren’t! You can’t give up, even now. I don’t care what Zash says.” He could feel her warmth trying to soak into his bleak, diseased spirit. Her voice was becoming more soft and gentle. “The real question is, what are you going to do with the time you have left?”

He hiccuped, staring up at her, still leaking at the eyes. “I don’t know. There’s nothing left. There’s no point.” _Let us in…_

She scrunched up her forehead. “Come on, you’re not just going to let Thanaton _win_ , are you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nothing mattered. Why bother to kill Thanaton when he was going to die immediately after? Would he even make it that far? He’d just spent so much time and effort getting the 44th fleet and now it was just going to fall out of his lifeless hands. At least Aristheron would put it to good use.

“You’re not going to leave me yet, are you?” she whispered, apparently not caring that they were having this in front of everyone. “I love you. Even though we had that fight, I still love you. I don’t want you to go, not until there’s no choice left.”

He swallowed the rest of his tears. That was the most convincing argument.

_Oh, the vaunted power of love. So weak and flimsy, easily broken. No one loves a snake, not for long. Soon your sins will become too much for her, and then her ‘love’ will disappear like a snowflake on Mustafar._

He gritted his teeth against the voices. She waited.

“…I won’t leave you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She sagged in relief against him as she heard the lightsaber shut off. “Oh thank goodness.” She kissed his cheek – for some reason, Kalatosh didn’t retaliate this time – and pulled away to get to her feet, then helped him up.

As he got up, he saw Revel slowly holstering his blaster. “Just in case I was going completely insane?”

“It was on stun,” Revel said gruffly. “If ‘Shara hadn’t gotten there first, I woulda done it.”

He sighed. “Well, no rest for the wicked. Let’s go kill Giri so _that_ blight is excised from the galaxy at least.”

“Now you’re talking,” Revel said.

“I can, of course, keep looking for anything I’ve missed,” Zash began.

He shook his head at her. “Don’t bother. It’s not worth it. I’ll need both you and Khem for Giri.”

“Then…” She hesitated. “In my free time, I’m going to start researching a solution to my own predicament.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” With luck, he’d be dead before she found a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s true! We are not going to Belsavis at all. There is no cure that can fix him in time in this headcanon, and I think my reasoning will become apparent as the story unfolds. (About Belsavis specifically, I didn’t like the Inquisitor’s storyline at ALL. I found it silly and humiliating and my disbelief was about as suspended as a guy in concrete shoes hucked off a bridge.)


	27. Her Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drugs, depression, sexy times (I’ve never read any of the official Star Wars published accounts of people on glitterstim so that spot may be inaccurate)
> 
> Action soundtrack is [Corpse Party: Chapter 4’s Opening](https://youtu.be/OmGe6CeaFYE)! Also some [Indestructible](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjRWG0tKD4A)!

Part 27: Her Wounds

Aristheron pulled his longcoat more tightly around himself as he walked briskly through the fog. Murlesson had called him, saying he had something important to talk about, and there was something uncharacteristically vulnerable about how he’d asked that had sent him out into the bleak night immediately, away from strategizing with Janelle, Stroud, and Clay. Vany had asked to come, full of concern as was her warm-hearted way, but he asked her to stay behind. Murlesson usually responded better when conversing one-on-one, even if he was friendly with Vany – as much as he was with anyone.

He could feel the younger man’s Force sense, which was unusual. Normally he could only sense him if they were in the same room together, but now he could feel him halfway across the city. There was something careless about it, and he picked up his pace. This wasn’t right. The boy wasn’t entirely together at the best of times, but this was… worse than that. Murlesson had given him directions, but he didn’t need them now.

He wasn’t very surprised to find himself in a disreputable part of the city near the spaceport, nor that it appeared to be deserted. Even the remaining residents would surely find it uncomfortable to be so near a distressed Sith Lord. The fog hung thick in the air, almost as thick as the uneasy swirls of the Force that drifted restlessly around him, brushing past but not touching his cloak of Shadow. Aristheron stopped under a streetlight. “You wanted to talk?”

Murlesson seemed to materialize out of the dark alley before him, lurching out of the shadows and stopping just before stepping into the light. “I’m dying.” His voice was low and raw, his sense a gaping void of despair. He almost didn’t seem to be there, though Aristheron could see the gleam of his mask in the light and feel the Darkness bleeding from him.

“I know,” Aristheron said gently. This wasn’t the time to be concerned over etiquette.

Heavy silence fell between them.

“Do you want to leave?” Aristheron asked. “Spend what time remains to you in fighting Thanaton?”

“Screw Thanaton. He can do whatever he wants,” Murlesson said. He went on, sounding curious rather than sarcastic. “Do you think he’ll leave off if I tell him I’m dying without his input? …I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I might as well help you kill Giri while I still have control.”

“You are certain?”

Murlesson sighed and sagged against the wall. “I’m already here. I’m already working on your problem. Whatever webs I’ve cast towards Thanaton are weak and immature. Shut up. I only _just_ acquired the 44th. He needs time to take down, time I don’t have. I don’t know if I have time to take down Giri, even. But at least I know you’ll see it through when I give out. And you can have my underlings of course. You can have everything.”

“There really is nothing that can be done?” Aristheron asked. “I must kill Giri and save Salvara, yet if you asked me to help you overcome obstacles in your quest for a cure, I would surely aid you.” It was a difficult choice, the life of a whole planet or the life of his friend, yet…

“You and your Light,” Murlesson muttered, pulling away as if Aristheron’s compassion physically pained him, yet his sense seemed to reach out for support. “No. There is no cure. It’s killing me too quickly, it’s too late already. Zash has spent weeks searching for one. She wouldn’t hide anything from me after all that work. She has no reason to lie; I protect her, even if she doesn’t deserve it.” He hissed through his teeth. “I would fight if I could! But… I can’t. And I’m tired.”

“Then I am truly sorry. And if there is anything I can do you help you prepare for the end, name it.”

“Just don’t ask me to fight hand-to-hand much anymore,” Murlesson said. “I’m sorry. All your teaching is useless now. -I can protect you in the Force!” As if he worried Aristheron might send him away. “I can still be useful. I destroyed one of his Force connections today, a temple nexus as I thought. I… don’t know if I have the strength to destroy them all before his plan reaches…” He broke off. “I really am useless. I don’t know why Ashara won’t just let me kill myself-”

“Murlesson!” Aristheron cried sharply. “That is no talk for a Lord of the Sith. I did not ask you to work miracles for me, only to fight at my side.”

Murlesson was silent a while. “I should have enough strength for that.”

“That will be enough,” Aristheron said. “Never forget your pride. I would not ask a weakling to fight alongside me. Do not kill yourself out of despair. Every moment is a victory against those who would destroy you. Fight to the very end.”

“I used to think like that,” Murlesson mumbled. “Eke out every moment possible, for death comes for us all sooner or later. But there doesn’t feel like a point to it, when death comes soon no matter how I struggle. I…” He pulled himself together. “Never mind. I’ll be ready to fight when you need me.”

“I will be at your side, my friend, all the way,” Aristheron assured him.

Murlesson nodded, and faded back into the shadows and out of sight.

Murlesson crouched in the corner of his cabin, staring hard at the tiny packet cupped in his hands. It had been given to him by a cultist months ago, and he’d kept it hidden away since he found out what it was. But its temptation had been there ever since his illness, its faint call growing stronger and stronger until now, when he no longer gave a frak about the consequences. A shadowy figure leaned over him and he ignored it. _When_ did _you ever care about consequences?_

Glitterstim was the most addictive and most euphoric drug in the known galaxy; undoubtedly the cultist who had given it to him was addicted, and chosen to show their devotion by sharing their most precious possession. He had chosen not to waste it by throwing it away, but until his illness it had held no allure for him. He’d seen what it did to others, and he valued a clear mind, especially with the sort of power he had accumulated. He didn’t need to blow a hole in the Viper while going on a bad trip.

But he was dying anyway, so why not dull the pain with something stronger than medication? Why not? Why not… _Why not indeed…?_

‘Never forget your pride,’ Aristheron had said. But what pride was there left to him? What good did pride do him? Everyone died, and dying ‘well’ meant about as much as dying ‘poorly’, which was to say it meant nothing at all. Not to the dead person, and not to the rest of the galaxy.

_You fool! A resentful death will haunt you as surely as we do! Have you learned nothing from our very existence!?_

Yes, that was right, what if death were not the blank nothingness he’d always believed it to be? His will had always been incredibly strong; what if he ended up a ghost himself? A ghost bound for eternity to his tormentors – he choked, and lurched, and cried out in emotional agony. Such a fate would be unbearable. How did ghosts commit suicide? He was suddenly glad Ashara had stopped him from killing himself. Existence was a trap, a prison, and he couldn’t escape even through ragequitting. It wasn’t fair! _No one said anything about fair… A whine used by the weak who cannot grasp what they want_.

There really wasn’t any way to be free, was there? How could you separate paint that had already been mixed? He was stained irrevocably, doomed from the moment he’d tainted himself.

Well, a ‘good’ death was still irrelevant. He still wouldn’t care even if he remembered it afterwards. _You may change your mind later, but experience is the wisest teacher, after all_ … He might as well throw dignity to the wind and die in the gutter like the slave scum he was, it would be easier. But… later. As Aristheron encouraged him. If there was a chance he was going to be a ghost, he _would_ fight to the very end. _Ha, that’s more like it. More sport_.

With death being pushed back on his to-do list, that still left the glitterstim.

He stared at it.

His brain wasn’t even thinking thoughts anymore, logical or otherwise, he was just staring, unable to decide. _Were you not supposed to resist being paralyzed by fear? Fool_.

Maybe just a tiny nibble. Why not…-!

And now the room was spinning. And glowing. Maybe he should have done more research on this before-

But he felt- good, and terrible, and everything was moving too slowly, and the lights were too bright – aim carefully, push the light switch with his gift – now it was pitch black and still too bright. He could _see_ the Dark Side around him, enveloping him in a comforting embrace, tantalizing with promises of vengeance and destruction, and yet his eyes burned. What did a fellow have to do to experience existence comfortably? Besides all the hurting parts…?

His stomach was hurting even more than usual, actually, and – where was the – he found the edge of the toilet and vomited into it. But it was still in his system, and he flopped back down on the floor in the dark, covering his eyes with shaking bandaged hands, blocking out the visions of ghosts around him. “You’re _all_ snakes, not just Andru, hiss hiss hissing, and I hate you.” _How dignified_. “Stop laughing!”

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there until he felt… more himself, and the hissing faded away to normal background levels, and the twitching and the urge to vibrate dwindled. An hour, maybe. Why had he done that? That was pointless and unpleasant. But then, reality was pointless, life was pointless, he supposed none of it mattered anyway. It hadn’t even helped with his migraine.

He wanted to do it again. More, this time. It wasn’t addiction talking – even glitterstim didn’t work that fast – but more like self-destructive teenage contrarianism. Maybe it hadn’t worked for his pain because he hadn’t taken enough. And if he was going to be light-headed and delirious anyway, the more the better, right? Take all of it. Maybe add alcohol. The holonet said that was a bad idea and he wanted to find out why.

He stuffed the remnants back in the hidey-hole instead. Whatever else, he wasn’t experimenting any more right _now_. What he really needed to do was make some calls. There were still certain people who needed to know about his condition and he was procrastinating. He climbed to his feet unsteadily, calling his mask to him, and after a minute or two to get over the head-rush, strode out to the holocomm in the central room, punched in a code. “Acrimonious.”

“Acrimonious here, Lord Kallig,” the night shift comm ensign responded, audio only.

He didn’t hear Pyron coming online. “Has Moff Pyron already retired?” What time was it? Dense idiot. Of course he had. He restrained a residual twitch.

“Yes, my lord. Shall I put you through?”

“Yes.”

A moment, then: “Moff Pyron here. Lord Kallig, what can I do for you?”

Murlesson hesitated. “It seems I’ll be handing you over to Laskaris sooner than I thought, Pyron.”

Pyron, too, was silent a moment to digest that. “Your illness has taken a turn?”

“It’s terminal. I don’t have long left. I don’t know how much. I’m going to stay here to fight Kel Reu Giri, and then you can serve a proper master.” _If I didn’t know that was your attempt at sarcasm I might have said you were an embarrassment to the Sith for even thinking that_.

“You have my condolences, my lord,” Pyron said gently. “I will always wonder what could have become of our relationship. And I will miss you.”

“What,” Murlesson said flatly. Was he still high? “Ridiculous.” The spluttering noises in his head agreed.

Pyron chuckled regretfully. “Best of luck in your battle, my lord. Keep me updated if you can.”

“…Goodbye.” He terminated the call before he could embarrass himself further. _An excellent plan, if a bit late_.

Calling Rylee and Destris was going to be much more difficult. Especially since he hadn’t figured out what to do with them yet. Despite everything, he still hadn’t made a will. Everything was a mess. There was too much to deal with. He almost didn’t want to take care of it. Just let everyone else deal with it. If it was difficult for them, so what? Everything had been difficult for him and he’d failed to overcome it. That was normal.

And yet… he… cared too much. _They are not worth kicking the dust from your boots. You should not care_.

Rylee answered the comm. “Master! This is a surprise!” He was a couple days early for his regular check-in, that was true.

“Where’s Destris?” he asked.

Her happy smile faded. “I’ll fetch him. Have we done anything to displease you? Work on the CN-12 is progressing as fast as we can, we’re almost done…”

“No, it’s fine. Just go get him. I want to talk to both of you.” _As if you were friends or something…_

He leaned heavily on the holocomm until they both returned a few minutes later, looking anxious. “Yes, master?” Destris asked hesitantly.

He almost laughed. They still thought they were in trouble. Well, they were, but not from him. He took off his mask and they gasped. “So I’m dying.” Had the glitterstim changed anything about his face or was it just his usual diseased look? He probably should have checked first. Mistake after mistake after mistake-

“That can’t be!” Rylee cried. “That’s impossible, Master.”

“Nothing can kill you!” Destris said. “Paladius said he would, and he couldn’t.”

“Paladius was weak and a fool,” Murlesson said scathingly. “I’m neither, but I’ve been trying to control forces beyond any mortal’s power, and… I can’t.” He dropped his head. If it was weakness before his minions, so be it. It didn’t matter. “It’s killing me. Literally. I don’t know how long I have left. Days, maybe weeks if my parasites are generous. Not long.” _No, not long at all_.

“You have parasites?” Destris said, and Murlesson sensed he was going to follow up with some incredibly useless advice for dealing with physical bugs. “Have you seen a doctor-”

“Parasites of the soul,” Murlesson snapped, holding onto his temper with more difficulty than usual. “Do you think it would be that easy? Do you think I haven’t looked for an answer? There isn’t one. I am going to _die_. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it, not even me.” _Ha! He deserves to get stepped on, the self-important pompous buffoon_.

“S-sorry… Master…” Destris chewed his lips, looking like he really wanted to offer more solutions but couldn’t think of how to get around Murlesson’s put-down.

“We’ll pray for you!” Rylee cried, punching a fist into her open palm. “Everyone here. If everyone works together, I’m sure we can help!” _What an ignorant little idealist_.

He found it genuinely touching. “Well, it can’t hurt. It probably won’t save my life, so don’t feel bad when I die anyway.”

“Is there anything else we can do?” she asked plaintively, clasping her hands. “We- _I_ care about you, Master. You’ve done so much for us, and everything we’ve done for you seems so small in comparison.”

What was it with people trying to find something to do right after he told them there wasn’t? “The magical part is, Rylee, you did most of it yourselves.” He managed to smile, because it _was_ rather amusing. “I kept you safe and gave you direction; _you_ built the cult into a beacon of power, a testament to what the destitute can do if given half a chance. You’ve come a long way since we met in the bowels of Nar Shaddaa. Yes, you did it because I told you to, but haven’t you also done it for yourselves?”

They absorbed that; Destris looked like this was a completely new idea. Even though he’d been preaching along those lines for a while. Rylee, though, was shrewder. “But even with everything we’ve done, Master, we still need you. Neither of us has the smarts to deal with the Hutts, and you know how Torga wants us.” _At least they’re smart enough to guess how stupid they are_.

“I know. I… don’t know what I ought to do for you.” Pyron, who needed their support the most for the CN-12, could do the least for them; turning them into an Imperial presence wouldn’t work at all. Xalek would not care for looking after them. Ashara might, but he wasn’t sure she was capable of dealing with Hutts either. That really left Aristheron, but did Aristheron want a _cult_? Or an isolated outpost on Nar Shaddaa? He’d been exasperated and skeptical when he first learned of it, and he might find it uncomfortable to deal with them. But… “Perhaps Lord Laskaris will be able to find a suitable guardian for you.” He could trust Aristheron to hand them on responsibly even if he didn’t want them himself. _Yes, dump all your trash on your friend. I’m sure he will just love it all_.

“I don’t want things to change,” Rylee said in a small voice. “I don’t want you to die. Please don’t die, Master.” _How sweet. I almost wish we could see her face when you go_.

She loved him, didn’t she? It wasn’t just his ego saying that, was it? But he didn’t feel the same for her. “I’m sorry, Rylee.”

There wasn’t anything else to say, was there? He stared at them, and they stared at him, at his corrupted face.

“I should go,” he said. “I need to rest. I’m helping Laskaris fight a Jedi and it’s exhausting.” And he still felt off from the glitterstim.

“Take care, Master,” Destris said. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“We’ll be praying for you,” Rylee said. “We’ll go organize it right now. Sleep well, Master.”

The strange thing was, lying in bed ten minutes later, he really did feel something. Maybe the power of prayer wasn’t completely made up. At least not when the Force was involved.

“ _I’m not dying to you,” he told the grey-haired apparition. For one thing, that privilege was already being made use of._

“ _When the time comes, I will not need your approval,” Thanaton said, and lunged at him, fingers stretching into claws, face stretching into a gaping maw_ –

He was awakened from another near-screaming nightmare by his comm going off. “Kallig here.” At least he was already full of adrenaline if this was an emergency.

“Murlesson,” Aristheron’s voice rang urgently from the speaker, piercing his exhaustion and jolting him into real wakefulness. “Giri’s making a move. I need your assistance.”

So it was an emergency. “Where are you?” The Force was in torment, he could feel it already, the storm swelling to onslaught. It had been seeping into his dreams, twisting them past even his normal sickening routine. Maybe docking on the planet instead of the moon had been a terrible idea after all. He groaned as he dragged himself from his bed, his head throbbing agony. Those prayers weren’t helping that much right now.

“Downtown.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He grabbed a robe, grabbed his boots, belt, mask, and lightsaber, and yelled into the crew quarters to wake everyone up. “Revel! Get us in the air _now!_ ” Agitated even while Revel scrambled for the cockpit, he called Aristheron back. All he received was a busy signal. He called Vany instead. “What’s going on?”

He winced at the volume of the crash that reverberated through the comm. That sounded like a lightsaber duel in the background. “Giri’s attacking!” Vany cried. “He’s… super strong somehow, he’s knocking the whole freakin’ hotel down. We need your help!”

“You will have it. I assume the time for subtlety has passed.” _Let us wreak havoc! Upon the Jedi, upon this world_ …

“Considering most of the front of the hotel is going, yeah, I’d say so!” Vany said, and screamed. “Watch out, Janelle!”

“Where is Sabran!?” Janelle cried in the background. “What have you done to it!? Tell me!” There was another crash.

“I’m on my way,” Murlesson said, watching from the back of the cockpit as Revel skipped most of the usual preflight checklist and gunned the engines.

The storm was thick and low above the fog as they lifted off into the black night; lightning flickered and thundered about them, and the Force seethed, seemingly aimlessly – but he knew there was a pattern there. Would he have time to figure out what it was? If only he could _concentrate_ for two minutes…

“What’s that tower?” Ashara asked, pointing straight ahead at the slender beam looming over everything else, right in the heart of the city’s centre. Maybe 700 meters tall, with a ring of observation levels maybe three-quarters of the way up.

“Main planetary communications tower,” Murlesson said. “But we’re not going there.”

“Holy shit,” Revel breathed as they sped over the cityscape, Aristheron’s hotel coming into view – or what was left of it. “Looks like it got hit with a missile strike. You handwavers sure got a lotta power when you put your minds to it.” _Perhaps he begins to glimpse what the Sith know instinctively_.

“Or a whole planet’s mind to it,” Murlesson said grimly. The hotel was looking like a piece of holey cheese, and a huge chunk of the exterior appeared to be cratered off; as they watched, a puff of debris exploded from yet another wall. Aristheron had been the projectile that created the impact, but without missing a beat, he caught the edge of the hole and swung himself back to safety. He could sense everything – panicking patrons fleeing the building, Vany’s fear, Janelle’s strained serenity, Stroud’s frustrated fury, Aristheron’s stern resolve, and Giri’s mutated aura. It was changed completely from what he had last felt on Alderaan, maybe even more changed than his own. What had used to be a stoic grey presence was now a toxic black cloud, leeching strength and hope from the atmosphere.

Murlesson didn’t stay to watch any more visually, heading for the dorsal hatch onto the top of the Viper. Using the boarding ramp would take too long. Revel was putting down in the middle of the street, ignoring traffic entirely.

< _This Jedi is a dangerous opponent, my master,_ > Khem said, right behind him. < _I look forward to crushing him in my bare hands when we reach him_.>

“I’ve missed you, Khem,” Murlesson said. Khem grunted.

He scrambled out onto the top of the Viper, looking for the glow of lightsabers above him. There was Aristheron’s scarlet, Giri’s yellow, Janelle’s green. Below the Viper, pedestrians were running and screaming, and all was chaos. _This world is soft under Republic rule, it seems_. He ignored them all as useless noise. Revel was adjusting the Viper’s altitude to the correct floor but he couldn’t get right up close to the damaged building. The lights were out on several floors, and the interior was dark and jagged-looking from all the demolished walls. He could sense the weight of the building, starting to pull and lean slightly, so many of the front supports knocked out by Giri’s explosive entrance.

Could he make that jump still? He had to. He _had_ to. Ashara and Xalek were up there with him. He shook his head violently, trying to clear it. He needed focus. _What’s the matter? Are we being distracting?_ “Yes, actually,” he muttered. _Hiss away all you like, it won’t change a thing_.

He clenched his teeth and jumped, supernaturally high but still clumsy, hitting the floor hard and rolling awkwardly to his feet, cold sweat pouring off him. Ashara and Xalek were with him, Khem behind them, but Drellik had wisely stayed back on the Viper. Aristheron was holding his ground in the next room, breathing hard, aristocratic brow furrowed against the Fallen Jedi before him lurking in the shadows. Janelle was beside him, apparently having given up on words for now.

“So you’ve summoned your allies,” Giri said, looking them over. “They will not avail you. Your end is inevitable.”

“I was going to say the same about you,” Aristheron said, drawing himself up. He moved forward, saber in a high guard position. Giri suddenly lunged, and Aristheron blocked, getting pushed back a step. Xalek came darting in on the right and Giri knocked him away with a gesture, throwing him through a hallway to the other end of the building. Giri had been a good duelist before, but to see the jump in strength was still a shock. Think… how could they get through this power, through the layers of Darkness that formed an almost physical barrier around the former Jedi?

Aristheron was the only one not yielding ground to Giri, retaking his lost step and then taking one more. However good he had been last time they fought together, he was clearly in a league of his own now. Every stroke had such heavy power behind it Murlesson winced, and yet he was so smooth, so fluid it was difficult to follow. Murlesson always cheated by tweaking the minds of his enemies, but Aristheron didn’t need to. And he still hadn’t lost control; though he was hard pressed against this assault, his sense was barely glimmering around the edges.

“Where _is_ Sabran?” Ashara asked, moving to a flanking position. “Did we ever find out?”

“Nope,” Janelle said grimly. “He’s hiding it. And I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Sabran is no longer your concern, Janelle,” Giri said, glancing side-to-side to keep everyone in view, unimpressed with the lot of them. “You are a traitor and have no right to know.”

“Sabran is always my concern,” Janelle said, her spirit flaring. “Everyone is my concern! Maybe I betrayed the Republic, a little bit – but you’ve betrayed the Jedi! You’ve betrayed _everyone!_ Jedi are supposed to _help_ people! What do you think you’re doing!?”

“The role of the Jedi is to eliminate the Sith,” Giri said. “That is how the Jedi help the galaxy. When the Sith are gone, you would thank me for it if you lived to see it – but you will not, for you are Fallen though you still clutch at the Light.”

“You’ve become a worse monster than any Sith!” Janelle cried. “I’m not Fallen… but you are, and it is my duty to stop you.” She glanced at Aristheron and Ashara, and together with Xalek and Khem they all closed in.

Blocking Murlesson, who now had no space to see what Force lightning did to Giri’s defenses. He scrambled to one side, nearly tripping over half a singed side-table, but the movement before him was quick as flames – and no one was getting through to Giri. Strategy! What was best in this situation-

He flung himself to the floor as Giri stretched out his hand, a blastwave ripping over his head and carrying a heavy armoire with it. He heard the wood shatter on the Viper’s hull, heard Drellik yelp as he was sprayed with splinters. He could sense Major Stroud and Vany were carefully making their way down to the same level through a series of holes in the floors; apparently Aristheron had been knocked through multiple _floors_? And he was still moving as he was?

Invincible as Aristheron may have seemed, they weren’t going to make head-way on their enemy if they couldn’t _coordinate_. With them all attacking Giri simultaneously, they were not overwhelming him, they were getting in each others’ way! The close confines of the hotel rooms, the obstacles of debris, they were playing to Giri’s advantage. “Hey-!”

“What’s up, bastards!?” Stroud yelled, kicking his way through a flimsy hotel door that was still standing even though there was a perfectly serviceable hole in the wall beside it. Great, the comic relief was here and they would have to be protected.

“Language!” Vany hissed from behind him.

“Sorry, ma’am…”

“Stay back and let us handle this,” Murlesson managed to grit out before they could get themselves hurt. The battle was still blazing away awkwardly before him, a flickering, buzzing rainbow of lightsabers, and he lifted his hands to try and hold Giri down, slow him so that Aristheron could start stabbing him properly, but even with all his stolen strength he couldn’t seem to assert his will over Giri’s. He growled in frustration, gasping for air through his mask. _We are fighting an entire_ planet _, being wielded by one acclaimed a Master of the Force, you realize. You want to win, get angrier! Let your hatred_ flow!!

He felt the shift in the Force as Ashara looked out the front. “We’re going to have company!” She was trying to stay calm, stay in the Light, but apprehension was rising up to swallow her sense. He looked out too, to see Republic military vehicles closing in. A pair of starfighters blasted by overhead. And the Force was thickening about them all, the webs of destiny tightening around them…

“Hostile forces, stand down!” someone was blaring through a megaphone. Squinting into the dark showed a humanoid that might be a Cathar, if the ears were any indication. “Master Giri, unknown combatants, stand down! This is Commander Ry Min of the Republic Armed Forces of Salvara! I repeat, lower your weapons and _stand down!_ ”

“Eight-legged son of a Florn Lamproid!” Murlesson snarled, frustrated. They couldn’t fight all of that _and_ Giri with his current power and wards. They needed to regroup, and Giri could _not_ be allowed to pick the next battlefield. “Frakking heard her the first time. Aristheron!” _None of us like running… but you are making the smart decision now. A snake strikes best when unexpected, after all_.

“Get everyone on the Viper, now!” Aristheron said. “Vany, go!”

“Going!”

“Orders, boss?” Revel asked.

“Hold position,” Murlesson said. “We’re on our way, I hope you’re ready to go in a hurry.”

“You know me,” Revel drawled. “Try to get it done before those fighters come back.”

“Running already?” Giri said, making Force-shifting motions – Ashara moved to block whatever it was he was targeting Vany with, was pushed back several paces by what looked like a severe invisible blow, and Vany ducked and winced but wasn’t struck back. Oh, so _now_ they could coordinate. Better late than never…

Janelle was right behind Vany. “Don’t be afraid to jump. I’ll guide you.” Vany ran to the edge of the room and leaped, and Janelle half-carried her with a gesture to safety on the Viper’s hull.

“Can you do that for me too?” Stroud asked, sounding doubtful and amused.

Janelle snorted. “Of course I can. Go!” Stroud jumped, followed by Janelle and Ashara.

Aristheron and Khem and Xalek were holding back Giri, physically at least, but as Ashara leaped towards the Viper, a wave of malevolence rose from Giri, stronger than before. Murlesson growled and braced himself, hands clawed as he resisted it, contained it, as much as he could-! He skidded back almost to the edge of the floor, heard Ashara cry out as the edge of the wave hit her, slamming her to the Viper’s hull. He growled. “You bitch…! Don’t you-!”

Hatred twisted inside him, distorted power rushing through him as he forgot everything except the currents of the Force, how it raged towards him like a hurricane – and how he met it with his own wild, uncontrolled storm. Lightning sparkled around him, randomly striking the walls around him and leaving smoking pock-marks.

“Murlesson!” Ashara called to him from behind him. “Come on, we have to go! We can’t fight everyone like this!”

Just knowing she was all right, even though he heard the wince in her voice, the bruises in her spirit, brought him back under control. “Xalek, move your frakking arse! Khem, you too!”

< _Curse the Republic for interfering,_ > Khem growled as he went.

Murlesson and Aristheron glanced at each other. They could hear the starfighters returning, and now they had no one behind to support them, Giri sprang forward, lightsaber raised, the Force besieging them. Aristheron spun, teeth gritted in concentration, matching blow for blow. “Go, Murlesson.”

“You’d better be behind me!” Murlesson cried, and stumbled backwards towards the opening in the wall. He could sense perfectly where the Viper was, how the Republic forces were forming in the sky beyond, how everyone was waiting for him and Aristheron, but… the jump back suddenly seemed even more terrifying than the jump forward.

It wasn’t like he had much to lose, and he flung out a hand, singing Giri’s sleeve with lightning as he threw himself backwards, feeling Janelle and Xalek and even Ashara’s weak efforts bolster his own, pulling him to safety. He fell over as he landed with a pained grunt, and looked up as Aristheron landed beside him. If there was no one left in there beside Giri – he strained and pulled, squeezing his eyes shut and drawing on all the power he could access, dredging up almost everything left in him. _Kill him KILL HIM!_ The building groaned as it began to collapse around the Jedi, so much of it weakened on those floors that he could just _yank_ and feel it give, a tiny bit at first, then a bit more-

It wasn’t nearly fast enough and he _felt_ the malice rushing at them, snapped open his eyes to see Giri leap after them out of the collapsing hotel, lightsaber raised with Darkness forming around him like a cold spear of _doom_ –

Reflexes took over and he switched from pulling to pushing, instinctively moving his gift to keep the Jedi away. The Viper lurched wildly under him even as Revel ignited the thrusters, dipping away from Giri- Janelle gasped as she nearly lost her balance- the ghosts were hissing to drown out everything else- Darkness stabbed, cold and swift and lethal-

Giri clawed at the edge of the Viper’s hull and fell, tumbling down to land – unharmed, of course – on the debris-strewn street below. For a moment, it seemed like he would reach out to drag them back down and prevent them from escaping. Or worse, strike them with that massive blast he’d just been preparing.

But the hotel was falling forward now in ruin, furniture sliding down to shatter on the street, duracrete and plaster raining around Giri, and the Jedi even with all his power had enough to do to shield himself against the deadly shower of debris.

Aristheron’s hand was clamped around Murlesson’s upper arm, dragging him towards the hatch as the Viper accelerated under them. “Get in before the fighters start shooting!” There was the hatch, and he slid in feet first, collapsing carelessly about five meters to the inner deck, curling around himself as the Viper slid through the sky, laserfire hissing through the atmosphere perilously close to the shields. Everyone else was inside, and Aristheron was just coming down the ladder, locking the hatch securely behind him. “Revel, feel free to leave atmosphere at any time.”

“You got it,” Revel said. “By the way, what the hell was that lurch? The Jedi hit us?”

“I pushed,” Murlesson rasped, allowing Ashara to drag him to his feet and then reeling away under the shifting gravity caused by Revel’s evasive manouevers and the pain in his body, unfelt under the adrenaline of the fight but now rising yet again to the surface. “Kept the Jedi _from_ hitting us.”

“It was really impressive,” Ashara said. “You’re so cool.” _It was not impressive at all. Panicked flailing when you could have used the shift to your advantage_.

“Should we stop by Miruta?” Murlesson asked, collapsing on the lounge – leaving space for others this time. His breath was slowly returning, and he could now realize just how damn tired he was.

Aristheron shook his head, putting an arm around Vany as she came to hug him. She was so tiny next to him. “We cannot reach the Kollyrion now. We cannot waste a second for the Republic to catch up.” He ground his teeth. “We could have had him if the Republic had not intervened.”

“We needed better coordination for that,” Murlesson said. “You’re a great duelist, and Ashara’s a great duelist, and Xalek and Khem are hardened warriors, and Janelle is…”

“I’m good enough,” Janelle said, more amused than insulted.

“But that cramped space played to his advantage. It’s hard to communicate when there’s nowhere to _go_.”

“Jumping to hyperspace in fifteen seconds, if you’re not strapped in,” Revel said, and Murlesson slid upright enough to get a seatbelt around his waist as some of the others scrambled for safety. “Micro-jumping to lose these jokers, and then we’ll make the real jump out of here. Where to?”

“Talcene,” Aristheron said, bracing himself against the acceleration without so much as sitting down.

“What’s the plan?” Murlesson asked. “Is it time to show them just who they’re dealing with?” Darkness curled around him, frustration, impatience, hatred, rage. _That’s the way_. But no, he forced it back down before it could burst out inappropriately. He was going to pop like a shaken soda if this went on too long. The Viper slowed back out of hyperspace already to sublight speeds and hung, Revel no doubt calculating their next jump.

“Yes,” Aristheron said. “It does not matter what the Republic thinks of this any longer. I _will_ take actions to protect _my_ planet that has been mishandled by their ignorance and complacency.”

“They would stop it if they could,” Janelle said wearily. “Even if they knew, what could they do?”

“They could get a bunch of important Jedi to come kick his butt,” Vany said. “Couldn’t they? Like Jedi police or something?”

“Jedi police… ‘who watches the watchers’, kind of thing?” Janelle grimaced. “I can’t believe he was talking like that. I still can’t believe he’s doing all of this, and I _traveled_ with him a while. What could have possessed him to go this far?”

“Power,” Murlesson said. “Obsession with an frustrating, unstoppable opponent. The inability to know when to quit.” He grinned ironically inside his mask. _Do you describe yourself, or your nemesis? I wonder, if you had reached for the kind of power the Jedi did, how much more it would twist you than simply allowing us to take hold of you_. “Your fleet is at Talcene, yes? I will order mine to meet them there.” And the Viper shot back into hyperspace as he said it.

“I’d like to attack at dawn,” Aristheron said. “After the excitement of tonight, they will not expect us to return so soon.”

“I’m hungry,” Vany whispered. “I’m raiding your pantry.” Stroud followed her – and so did Xalek.

“I can field ten Destroyers and at least a battalion of infantry,” Murlesson said, hoping Pyron would be able to meet that deadline. Well, Aristheron’s fleet could always make a first wave and Pyron a second wave, catch the Republic off-guard – but he’d prefer to sweep with overwhelming force to begin with. Naga Sadow would probably agree. While it might be more efficient to be cleverer with fewer resources, the psychological message was important, and a simpler plan was more difficult to muck up.

“I have similar numbers,” Aristheron said.

“Neato,” Revel said, appearing in the cockpit door. “We’ll be there in a couple hours.”

Murlesson acknowledged him with a languid glance. “That should keep the local Republic at bay… and between us, we have enough ships to prevent reinforcements from arriving by air _and_ to demolish the space defenses.”

“Agreed. When our forces are assembled at Talcene, we shall set out immediately back for Salvara. I will coordinate with Pyron and Clay.” Aristheron leaned over, putting a hand on Murlesson’s shoulder. “And now, you should rest.”

“What-!? But-” _He’s already taking your fleet. It was never yours. He knows you’re weak_.

“Go rest!” Aristheron commanded him, interrupting and overriding every one of his arguments. “You’re ill, you’re tired, and this battle will push us all to our limits, especially you. You need every moment of rest you can take right now.”

“He’s right,” Drellik said. “You must take care of yourself, now more than ever!”

Revel grunted in agreement. “You’re barely conscious right now. A wise pirate sleeps when he can, remember?”

“Not a pirate,” Murlesson mumbled grumpily. _Not a pirate, when you stole an entire fleet… little thieving snake?_ It was grossly irritating, and he hated that Aristheron was right; hated being sent off like a child. In front of everyone, too! “If you’re going to make a big deal out of it, fine.” He hauled himself to his feet; only pride kept him from immediately collapsing. “Good night, then.”

“Sleep well,” Ashara said. “We’ll call Pyron and take care of everything, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

Alone in his cabin again, he rolled about restlessly. What was sleep!? How did Aristheron expect him to sleep even if he was so tired his eyeballs were just about melting out of his head??

If he wasn’t allowed to help in strategizing, there were a few personal things he could be thinking about. If there was anything he’d left undone that he _really_ wanted to do before he died. Besides killing people, because that task would never end, or to control a shadow empire of agents and lies that eventually toppled the actual Empire. Oh, he’d had a list – to go on more proper archaeology expeditions, write a book, infuse a holocron – consume more holocrons, while he was at it – visit Naga Sadow’s true tomb, visit the Republic to see if it was all it was cracked up to be – not likely, was it? _It wasn’t when I was there last_.

No. None of that was really important, was it? It was all nebulous, hypothetical, vague desires that didn’t really mean anything. Nothing meant anything anymore.

But there was someone who still meant something. He still hadn’t spent enough time with Ashara. Just the memories of what they’d had before everything went wrong, those few short days where he could hold her and kiss her and they didn’t fight so much and his headaches were _just_ headaches and not perpetual migraines, it… hurt like getting stabbed. And he already felt like he was being stabbed. He wanted… just once more… just one night…

_Just one night, hmm?_

He sat up, tense in the darkness. While he would rather not deal with his parasites… “What do you want?”

They glimmered before him; Kalatosh looked ready to attack, but was being held back by… Horak-Mul? Ergast spread his hands. _We already have almost everything we want. But what would you do, for a night with your woman?_

What _would_ he do? “Why are you even offering to bargain?”

_We’re not offering anything out of mercy, foolish boy. Everything we could want will come with time, whether you struggle or not. But if you’d like to beg for it… we might be amused enough to grant you some semblance of happiness before the end._

_No!_ cried Kalatosh, seething. _He’s not good enough! I will wreak my vengeance on him if you allow this!_

 _Now, now,_ Horak-Mul said. _We are Sith. We have dignity. We can be slightly magnanimous in victory._

He wanted to say they hadn’t won yet, but even a small chance to be with Ashara without getting torn apart wasn’t one to be tossed away. Of course they could still be toying with him… The word of a Sith was only slightly better than air, on average, and he knew that as a Sith himself. “So if I want to not die a virgin, I need to grovel and suffer Kalatosh’s retaliation.”

 _That sounds appropriate_ , Ergast said.

 _I don’t like this_ , Andru said. _But do as you will, little snake. It’s not like you’ll be able to breed._ That was true. Zabrak and Togruta were infertile together. He hadn’t planned to have children anyway.

He was already on his knees, and he bowed his head to the mattress. “Please, then. Please… let me see her. Let me be with her.”

 _You’ll have to try a lot harder than that,_ Horak-Mul said in boredom.

Pretty please with a cherry on top was not going to help in this situation. He did have a lot of practice in groveling, and let some of his feelings out – his pain, his despair, his desperation. Maybe someone else would have been uncomfortable over it. He no longer cared. “Please! I beg you, lords, just one night – just a couple hours, please!” He was probably going to actually cry for real.

 _Keep going_ , Ergast said, waving his hand.

It was maybe ten minutes before they nodded to each other, apparently satisfied with his abject humiliation. _Much longer and he won’t have time to spend on anything else_ , Ergast said. _Enjoy yourself… for the last time_.

They faded into the darkness, and miracle of miracles, his head cleared – not completely, but after what he’d been enduring all this time, he might as well have been completely cured. He put his hands to his head, just to feel the _lack_ of ache, almost crying again at how it felt. Gods, his pillows were soft, and now he could _feel_ them fully, appreciate them with the same intensity he’d appreciated real food after a lifetime of slavery.

But even that discovery was unimportant. “Ashara!” he called out, with his voice and the Force, and felt her respond sleepily. “Ashara!” he called again, standing and going to his door, feeling realization flood her mind as she jumped out of bed in the crew quarters and hurried to him.

“Yes, what is it?” she said breathlessly as he opened the door for her, and gasped to see him up, and he stared to see her, wonderfully disheveled in her pyjama tank-top and shorts.

Slowly, he reached a bandaged hand out to her, and she reached out to him in turn, their fingers touching gently and interlacing. No pain, at least no new pain. He stared at her in wide-eyed awe. They really were leaving him alone.

She shook her head in incomprehension. “You’re- don’t tell me- how did you-?”

“I… didn’t,” he had to admit. Best not to admit they were giving him a chance to seduce her; she might suggest it on her own anyway. “They gave me one… one last chance to… feel myself again.”

“How? Why?” she asked. “Sith don’t just… be nice like that.”

“I had to beg for it,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She nodded. “But if they don’t go back on their word, I wanted to… Please, stay with me for whatever time I have.”

She stepped forward and hugged him, carefully at first, then squeezing tighter as he felt no mental attacks. He had to hold himself back from throwing himself at her, physically or mentally, at her warm light that he’d missed, that made him feel less broken. “Yes, I will. I’m here for you.”

“Carpe diem, as they used to say…”

She peered up at him. “You want to buy a fish?”

“What?” He stared. “Carpe, not carp-”

“Carpet yum?”

“Ashara.”

She was giggling. “I couldn’t resist. What language is that?”

He’d missed how she turned her ignorance into wit, and despite his intellectual disapproval, found his mood lightening. “A very old dialect, supposedly from before the Jedi and the Sith parted ways. Only fragments survive, and that’s one of them.”

“Huh.” She reached out to close the door, turned up the lights a little bit, then tugged him over to the bed. He wondered if she could feel his heartrates increase, and struggled to keep his feelings hidden. He didn’t want to scare her. Screw that, he was pretty scared himself, and he wanted this. “Even if you’re feeling better for a while, you should take this opportunity to get some proper rest. I know it feels like a waste, but we have to be fighting in a few hours.”

“I know.” He ought to just ask. But he hesitated still.

She sat and made him sit before her on the edge of the mattress, then took his hands. “How are you doing with these?” He watched as she began to unwrap his fingers. She’d find out soon enough, and her forehead wrinkled in distress as she carefully peeled the bandages away and blood ran down his fingers. “Oh Force. I can’t imagine this pain.”

He shrugged. She took his right hand in both of hers and he felt her Force flowing into him, trying to staunch the bleeding, to slow the decay. He wished he could do that. “It’s not going to help much, you know. You may as well save your energy.”

“Every little bit I can help is worth it,” she said. “If it helps you at all, when this reprieve has passed, I’ll be happy. If you can sleep for one night without bandages, it will be worth it, won’t it?”

He let her do it. It did lessen the pain slightly. After a few minutes she switched to his other hand, and eventually, his feet. He tried not to think about how close his bones were to the surface.

Finally she seemed to be done, and he was healed enough not to bleed all over his sheets, and she seemed tired. She went to wash her hands, then hit the lightswitch and came to lie in her old spot, pulling him down beside her. He melted against her warmth, against her soul – and the chance to nuzzle his face into her full chest without retaliation. It was so soft…! She chuckled as he found a comfortable spot, his arms wrapped around her, unbandaged fingers pressed against her back, her arms draped over his head and shoulders, her chin angled so she didn’t scratch herself on his horns. “You like boobs, huh?”

“Of course,” he mumbled. “If this was my last night alive, at least I’ve had this chance.”

For some reason that was hilarious to her. Her laughter was soothing, as was her steady heartbeat in his ear, but his thoughts were already turning melancholy again. For all he knew, this _could_ be his last night alive. Maybe he would fall while fighting Giri. That would be the best outcome, wouldn’t it?

He pulled his face out of her chest and looked up at her. If he were doomed to become a ghost when he died, he wanted her face to be with him to stave off insanity as long as possible.

“What is it?” she whispered. She was starting to blush. “The staring is… getting kinda unnerving.”

Maybe his eyes _were_ unduly serious and unblinking for the moment they were in… His arms tightened around her, the incredible tragic unfairness welling up in his throat. “I haven’t had enough time with you. …I could never have enough time with you. …I’m greedy. I want more. I want everything.” He closed his eyes to keep his emotions in check. “I could spend a full Zabrak lifetime with you and it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe a Wookiee lifetime.”

He heard a sniffle and felt her move to wipe away tears. She really did feel emotions so easily. “Don’t cry for me. I spend enough time feeling sorry for myself as it is.”

“I don’t want to grieve you before you’re gone, but I…” She sniffled again. “I haven’t had enough time with you either!”

He reached up to touch her tears before she could smear them all over her face. “Your tears won’t heal me or bring me back to life when I die. Save them for someone who matters… like Drellik. He’s the weakest person here, and yet he’s the one who’s accomplished the most real work.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “You brought hundreds of people out of despair. Rylee and Destris and your cult, Pyron and his fleet, Xalek, maybe even Khem… And you’ve done so much for me, you’ve supported me as I discovered who I am and what I believe in, even if you k- even if you didn’t always agree. …I’ll cry for you if I want to, dammit!”

“I’ve already hurt you far more than you should ever be hurt, and I wish… I wish I hadn’t.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in love,” she said. “Love doesn’t hurt, but the things around it can hurt. I forgive you.”

How could she forgive the wounds he’d carved into her spirit? He turned to kiss her heart, through the tank-top between her breasts, and felt her gasp in surprise. He hesitated a moment more, then surged upwards, kissing over her collarbone, her throat, to the narrow gap between under her jaw and her lekku; he tasted tear-salt there, wet on his lips. She gasped again, longer and louder, arching under him, her pulse thrumming, arousal rising through her sense to match his own.

He pulled back, leaning over her in the dark. He tried to ask, his mouth hanging open, but then she pulled him down to kiss her mouth, those pink lips he’d missed so, so much.

He managed to wrest control of his tongue over his nerves when he pulled away for the air he so desperately needed. “Would you- Could we- If you wanted to-” And it seemed he might as well not have tried at all. What even were words!?

“I thought you’d never stammeringly half-ask,” she said, smiling. “Yes, I’d like that. Although we’re not getting any sleep tonight, are we?”

“We’re young, we can go without,” he said. “Caf tomorrow. Loads of it.”

“Oh good, I’ll be literally bouncing off the walls while I fight,” she grumbled, and pulled him back in for another kiss, with her tongue in his mouth and her hands in his hair. Lust was flooding his veins, all the stronger for having been repressed so long.

And then she was the one to push him back, sitting up and pulling her tank-top off, and he lost the ability to breathe.

“What?” she asked defensively as he stared hungrily. “L-like what you see, huh?”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but he could touch, couldn’t he? “S-soft…” Softer than her lekku, which he also ought to show more attention to, but…

She giggled, then suddenly squealed as he dove on her. “Ack! Gently, please!”

“You,” he said in between mouthing kisses all over her, chest and face and lekku, “are a world of mystery to me…”

She poked him. “Did you just call me fat?”

“Oh my _gods_ , Ashara.” She snickered, and he couldn’t help it, he laughed with her.

She was shining in his arms, the undertones of sorrow not enough to dampen the Light of her spirit, and it just made her more beautiful. His Darkness loomed over her, but it could never overcome her. Darkness craved the Light, and Light was fascinated with Darkness, both seeking to consume or destroy each other, to become one – and this was getting uncomfortably close to the Unified Force theory.

She was… uncharacteristically shy as he moved down her toned body, determined to learn everything he could about her. The bruises across her hip and side from falling on the Viper earlier were beginning to darken, and he was cautious around them. “What’s the matter?” he asked, pausing at her feet.

“Er… it’s just…” She fidgeted. “This is my first time, and I know it’s your first time, and, well… I know you’re really into me, I’m just worried…” He waited patiently. “I hope I’m… pretty… enough?”

Was that all? “Ashara. You’re the most beautiful woman in the galaxy to me.” His voice was deep and soft with conviction, and she shivered at it. He ran his damaged hands up her calves and found a scar on her right shin – the remains of the blaster bolt she’d taken for him over Zeltros. Kolto had healed it pretty well, but there was still a little circle there. She’d done that for _him_ , before she even really knew him. She’d protected him just because he asked her to – sure it was for strategic reasons, but she’d trusted him when she didn’t really have a reason to yet, and been wounded for him. It was incomprehensible, in the best way. “All of you is beautiful.” He lowered his head and kissed the scar, and she moaned.

“You’re so sexy,” she said. “Between that voice, and that accent, and the way you touch me, I’m a complete puddle.”

He paused before he started trying to kiss a trail up past her knee. “My accent?” He’d thought it was a fairly ordinary Commenorean accent.

“Yesss,” Ashara sighed dreamily. “ _Ssso_ sexy.”

“If you say so.” But she sang breathily under his fingers so she must have been telling the truth. He was only slightly disappointed she didn’t taste of tangerines.

When she came, it was with a cry and a burst of energy that slid every loose object in the room a centimetre to the left. It seemed she only enjoyed her completion – and allowed him to relish his success – for a brief moment before she sprang up, full of energy, if slightly dizzy for a second. “Your turn!” She reached for his sleeping tunic and he froze up, pulling away. “What’s wrong?”

He had to snort at his own foolishness. “I’m afraid of the same things you are. But you’re beautiful. Your skin is warm and smooth and your scars are testaments to your courage. I’m… a wreck.” A scrawny, lanky gremlin crisscrossed with hidden mutilations and falling apart at the edges. Some boyfriend. He already counted himself lucky that she allowed his hideous, diseased, half-corpse to touch her, that she liked his touch – the possibility that she’d reject him once she saw him was too much.

Her forehead scrunched up in concern. “It’s okay. I’ve seen your scars. I accept them. They’re a testament to your survival against all odds.”

His odds had already run out. “You’ve seen my scars?” He looked at her sharply, a strange feeling of having his privacy invaded. Which was irrational, and yet-

“When we brought you in after you challenged Thanaton,” she said slowly. “We took all your clothes off to bandage you in kolto, Drellik and me. So… yeah. I know about it.”

He was silent a moment, then reached up to pull his tunic off over his head. He’d retain control over that, at least, and she let him, then scooted closer to touch his body, the scars on his chest, his neck, his back, his arms, scars from slavery, scars from battle. She rested her head against his bony chest as she embraced him, and he felt tears again. “I accept you,” she said again. “You’re fine the way you are. I wish your past had been less horrible, but it doesn’t change who you are.”

“Illogical,” he said, putting his arms around her, stroking the lekku running down her back. “It’s changed me immensely.”

“I still love who you are,” she said, trying so hard to find something positive to say. She didn’t have to, but he knew she would anyway. “I can’t read your thoughts, but I can read your feelings, and you’re exaggerating. You’re _not_ hideous. You’re gorgeous, even ill. And I love you.” He shook his head, not able to believe her. “I wish we had time for me to come to the point where I can move past your scars – not that I wouldn’t see them, but that I don’t cry over them-”

“Don’t cry.” He’d already said.

She sighed, giving up on the positive words thing. Finally. “The question I really have is why you don’t have more tattoos. Don’t Zabrak usually have them all over?”

He was surprised she’d even ask. “I just got the ones on my face so no one would look harder at me for _not_ having them. No one was supposed to see me naked and question my lack of Zabrak accomplishment.” Sarcasm crept into his voice.

“Oh, is that what they’re for?” Her fingers traced old wounds across his side and he flinched and she stopped.

“I probably wouldn’t have a lot on my body yet even if I’d been raised properly. I’d only barely be an adult.” And he understood the pale-skinned Zabrak of Iridonia had a completely different tattoo culture involving just their faces – she must have been doing some research of her own to know the red-skinned Zabrak tribes did their whole bodies. That was… flattering.

She smiled up at him. “You’ve done tons of things. But if it’s not important to you, then you shouldn’t get them. …Er… look, stop me if I do something you don’t like, okay?”

She was amazing at everything she did, and loving him was no exception. He’d accidentally shorted out another ceiling light as she’d taken him to undreamt-of heights. Forget drugs. They were nothing compared to this. Now they were a tangled pile of sweaty limbs and lekku, breathing together, moving together, an unfamiliar soul-searing dance that his body miraculously knew on its own. His soul clung to hers clung to his, her Light cradling his warped Darkness, touching that tiny spark inside him so that he felt vulnerable and almost whole in the same moment.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Foolish Jedi,” he whispered back.

“Arrogant Sith,” she retorted. “I love you.”

“I love _you_.”

“I don’t tell you often enough.”

“If that’s the case, I definitely don’t tell you often enough.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the first time you said it.”

That startled him. Was it really? “I didn’t believe in love before we went on a date. It all seemed fake. I still don’t know what this is. I still don’t know if I really believe in love. But this is what people refer to as love, isn’t it?”

“Yeah? What’s confusing about it?”

Love was supposed to be some kind of perfect emotion. Nothing could be perfect. How was it so easy for her to accept? He hesitated. “What is love to you?”

“Of caring so much for the person you… well, that you love, that… you want them to be as happy as possible. No matter what.”

“No matter what?” She ought not to use such words lightly. But everything else she said… it sounded right.

“I hope so,” she said. “No, yes. No matter what.”

“I won’t hold you to that,” he said. “Regardless… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever, and I don’t think – even if I survived – I could feel this way again about anyone else. So… I love you.” If only he could give her his soul, if only he hadn’t signed it away for power! But if he hadn’t, he’d be dead, and he would never have met her…

She shuddered at his voice. “Murlesson-”

‘If only we could stay like this forever’ was one of the cheesiest lines in Lightning Strikes My Heart, and he’d scoffed at it when it came up, but – now he understood it, maybe, a little. Not that he was going to say it, it was still frakking cheesy. “Ashara.”

Sparks literally flew, everything in the cabin went ‘thump’, and he collapsed on top of her with his hearts trying to pound their way through his chest. She clutched him close, despite the over-warmth of their sweaty bodies, and he held her tightly, imprinting her in his memory, her curves, her skin, her scent. If tomorrow were his last day, he might almost be able to say he died happy.


	28. Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s theme is [Sacred Worlds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6Y2qGK--NI) by Blind Guardian! I was asking Aristheron’s player what kind of apocalyptic music he could suggest and I settled on this one. I love it! So orchestral, such heavy percussion, so much vocal emotion.
> 
> I assume paratroopers exist in Star Wars, but I’ve never seen any evidence of it. So I have no idea how paratrooping technology might work in this time period in this galaxy, but I’m using it anyway because I think it’s cool.

Part 28: Madness

After sending Murlesson to bed and briefing Clay and Pyron, Aristheron sank onto the cot in the Viper’s medical bay and tried not to wince. He’d been pummeled harshly in his fight with Giri, and he was expecting more of the same on the morrow – though, hopefully, with fewer walls. But right now, he needed to get kolto on as many of his injuries as possible. The Force had shielded him from the worst of it, but still his back was harshly bruised, his left arm was speckled with shrapnel from where his coat had been shredded over his bicep, and one of his ribs had been cracked for sure. He’d managed to keep his head high through all the excitement of escaping, showing no signs of weakness in either demeanour or spirit, and now at last he could soften slightly. But not enough to wince.

Vany came to him a minute later, arming herself with a jar of kolto salve and an armful of bandages, helping him take his coat and armour and tunic off. She exclaimed at every new bruise and laceration, making faces and disgruntled, worried noises, her lekku tips twitching anxiously. It was endearing.

“Geez,” she said at last, more than half-way done. “Are you sure you’ll be able to fight tomorrow?”

“Completely, dearest,” Aristheron told her. “This much will hardly slow me down.” It couldn’t slow him down. Not only his life and goals and the lives of those close to him, but his pride was at stake.

She gave him a skeptical look with her dazzling blue eyes as she picked splinters out of his arm. “Are you being honest with me right now, Aris?”

Yet again, he was surprised by her. “…Yes.” True, it was difficult for him to admit to vulnerability to anyone, even Vany. But this time he was not vainly hiding his weaknesses. He really would be combat-ready.

She taped the last bandages over his arm. “Okie-doke, then. There! All done.” She grinned at him, putting her tools aside and leaning into him to embrace him. She was only as tall as him while he was sitting, but that meant that she could kiss him for once without craning her neck, and her kisses were sweet. Her small, slender hands wrapped around his neck, and he folded her into his arms, delighting in her petite frame as much as she seemed to adore his strength. “Allow me to say, then, while you’ve got your tunic off, that I _really_ approve. Yum!”

He allowed himself to register confusion on his face. “Why… ‘yum’?” She really used the strangest words sometimes. It was truly fascinating, being in a relationship with someone not of noble birth – and having entered into such a relationship, he had no wish to end it any time soon. His father would probably object, on the grounds of her species if not her rank. Aristheron would hold steady regardless.

Her smirk was mischievous and her blush was indigo, spreading over her face and down her lekku, intriguingly. “Because while you’re drop-dead gorgeous _in_ clothes, seeing you without them makes me wanna lick you all over.”

“Er.” He was _not_ used to people saying such things to his face, and _definitely_ not in a breathless whisper a handful of centimetres from his lips. “I would reciprocate the sentiment, but it’s very improper and hardly the occasion.” He needed to be conserving his energy, and while previously they’d been more open in private, his friend’s ship was not the place for anything more intimate than – relatively – chaste kisses.

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna _do_ anything,” Vany said, stroking the beard on his cheeks as if to reassure him. “But it’s how I feel about you… boyfriend.”

“I appreciate the thought, dearest.”

It was still unnecessarily distracting. Yet her warm affection comforted his spirit and persuaded him to relax a little more. He lay down on the medical cot and was not overly surprised when Vany climbed up and curled up beside him, snuggling into his chest. The cot was narrow, but she didn’t take up much room, and he found himself holding her protectively. Her breathing evened quickly and she fell asleep immediately.

But he did not, his mind occupied with strategies for the morrow. Certainly, Clay could handle the details, and all Aristheron really had to do was point the right men in the right direction – and of course, find his way to Giri and end him. Yet his mind still toiled, though he knew it was of no use- what was that?

Murlesson’s sense had changed, the roiling poison that plagued him withdrawn for a while. And- he was calling for Ashara.

Aristheron could not really fault him for that; Murlesson was young and not raised into nobility. Seeking some joy in his short, miserable life was perfectly understandable. Though… Aristheron could have wished the two realized just how _loud_ they were in the Force, several minutes later. He could hear no physical noise, but it was evident that he was not going to be able to rest until they docked with the Kyvernitis – and at that point there would be little point in trying to sleep. Vany slept soundly in his arms, preventing him from getting up, although it would have been extremely indelicate to acknowledge that he’d sensed anything in the first place.

Well, he did not begrudge them their brief happiness, only their lack of self-awareness.

The shuttle wobbled and bounced as it carved its way into Salvara’s atmosphere. The storm above Heley City had risen to a typhoon just since they left mere hours ago, and at its centre was the planetary communications tower. Aristheron was angry he had not seen it during his previous sojourn on the planet, but he was making up for lost time now. He took his anger, channeled it, focused it, allowing himself to remain calm even while his passion simmered.

The wind howled past the hull and the Force howled louder for those who could hear, threaded with Darkness and oppression. Overhead, the 23rd Fleet and the 44th Fleet were fighting the Republic’s somewhat ragtag space defense force. _That_ , he could not hear from the shuttle, but he could sense it, the tension, the cold military discipline, the fluctuating loss of life. He had every faith in Clay and Pyron to be able to contain and overwhelm the Republic forces; the Empire’s might was even mightier when led by competent and dedicated leaders. He was, overall, very pleased that Murlesson had managed to uplift Pyron to his rightful place in High Command.

Still – “The Republic’s forces are doing surprisingly well for being a piecemeal mash of military and civilian ships,” Aristheron said. “They coordinate their disparate types of chaos well, which makes them difficult to predict, and more dangerous than necessary. They won’t win, however. Their struggle is futile.”

Janelle took the information calmly, knowing as she did that he made such statements without prejudice, and Vany just looked at him, having affirmed her loyalty to him first and nations second some time ago, but Ashara grimaced. This was going to be a difficult fight for Murlesson’s lover, between orbit to Giri’s hideout. Her Light wavered, like a candle flickering, wracked with uncertainty and worry, unable to focus her resolve. Some of it was her still-strong loyalty to the Republic, and her unwillingness to harm Republic forces, but a lot of it was centred around Murlesson.

With good reason, for Murlesson was in a bad way. Something had changed between the night and the morning; his tormentors must have recommenced their assault with renewed vigour after allowing him that brief moment to himself. Now he sat still and unresponsive outwardly, but Aristheron could feel his spirit writhing within him with an unbearable intensity, far worse even than before, with a silently howling Darkness that Aristheron had not sensed in anyone besides those on the Dark Council – and Giri, Fallen as he was.

If Murlesson survived this fight, how long would he last afterwards? Would he have to watch his friend die in agony, without a chance to fight his illness head-on? That was the worst of nightmares to Aristheron, to be helpless in the face of a creeping, inevitable demise. He would wish for his own death to be in battle, fighting for his honour, to be slain in an honourable fashion.

The shuttle lurched again with a loud creak and Ashara twitched again. Her mind was racing, her thoughts almost audible to him without even reaching out to her. He had to remain steady; he could not give in to the least sign of weakness, or those who depended upon him would doubt and fall themselves.

“Almost to the drop point,” he said. “Get ready.” Murlesson didn’t move, Xalek tensed, Janelle nodded, Khem Val shifted as if to stand, and Ashara took yet _another_ deep breath. Aristheron ignored them all and activated a broad-band communication transmission. “Republic Forces, this is Lord Aristheron Laskaris of Talcene. My quarrel is with the Jedi hiding in the Planetary Communications Tower. Get in my way, and I’ll destroy you.” Vany smiled at him with approval. Fair warning had been given, for he could act with honour, _must_ act with honour no matter his foe. And if the Republic chose to take him up on his warning and abstain from fighting, all the better – he did not like to kill for killing’s sake, like so many Sith did. Only that he would not spare anyone who dared oppose him.

He would not have been surprised if the Republic decided not to face him on the ground; Salvara was hardly equipped to face down two full battalions of Imperial troops, not even in Heley City. And yet he had the feeling that they would cling to some foolish bravado and try to stop him, to soften him up for Giri. It didn’t matter; the only real question was whether they were strong enough to defeat Giri, minor distractions aside.

There was a sharp thundering ‘ _bang!_ ‘, all the lights in the shuttle went out, and there was an even more sickening lurch as the shuttle began to fall from the sky. Ashara’s tension spiked, Vany squeaked, Khem Val grunted, and even Janelle and Xalek gasped in surprise.

Lightning had struck the shuttle, which normally should not have been a problem, but some lucky or unlucky strike had knocked out the shuttle’s main power. Aristheron somehow got the legs to stand and slid to the back hatch, drawing his lightsaber and carving a hole in it. “Let us go.” Without pause he jumped out, launching himself away from the wounded shuttle, into the vastness of Salvara’s sky. His heart wanted to stay, to help Vany get out, but he couldn’t block the exit – he needed to be the vanguard, to ensure that the way to the ground was clear. Vany was nimble, she’d follow him even without the Force.

The shuttle had just come into the eye of the storm, so while the air buffeted him violently, whipping at his clothes and hair and pushing him this way and that as he descended, he was not torn apart by 200 km/h winds. Ashara surprised him by being the next one out; he heard her giggle caught by the wind behind him. Her tension had suddenly evaporated away, on the surface at least, and he couldn’t help making a wry face to himself. What an adrenaline addict she was. Meanwhile, Janelle was much more nervous, though she was still in control of herself. It was understandable. He had been the only one in that shuttle with any experience with the airbrake that was standard equipment for Imperial paratroopers, or with the dive that preceded any use of such an airbrake.

He could not deny it was liberating, to cast himself to the air, to have only one concern for a few moments – landing at the end of this jump. Well, make that two concerns. Lasers were beginning to lance up towards them from the ground, from a small platoon of Republic soldiers standing guard around the tower, and he drew his lightsaber to deflect what he could, spinning, whirling through the air as he plummeted, cleaving his way through the Darkness that wanted to swallow them and the ionized light that wanted to pierce them.

Soon, he reached the point to activate the airbrake cord, which activated the capsule on his back, a small one-use jetpack that was near-foolproof to operate. He might have been the only one in the shuttle certified to use one, but the others would come to no harm with theirs. He decelerated to land at a half-gallop onto the plaza at the base of the tower, turning it smoothly into a charge towards the nearest unit of Republic soldiers, lightsaber blazing. Fear flooded them, but they held, firing, and he deflected several volleys of shots before vaulting their cover, in among them like a zakkeg among nerfs, cutting them down swiftly and cleanly.

His allies landed somewhat less gracefully, Murlesson definitely using the Force to slow himself even more than the airbrake pack did. The wounded shuttle that had carried them from the Kyvernitis hurtled by, trailing smoke in a spiral, slowing to a survivable velocity as Murlesson, barely glancing up, steadied its trajectory with a wave of his hand. Those pilots would live to serve the Empire another day, and Aristheron appreciated it.

And the sky was full of soldiers, hundreds of them, cascading down from dozens of shuttles, landing and hurrying to establish defensive positions as the last local defenses crumbled and ran. They were capturing the plaza quickly, thanks largely to Murlesson’s subordinates Xalek and Khem Val, who had leapt into the fray even more recklessly than Aristheron had. He expected the Republic to mount a strong counterattack; they had been taken by surprise for now, but Commander Ry Min was not going to just let him land unopposed. He suspected the Republic’s lack of preparation was due to expecting him to assault the military base outside of the city first – doing an airdrop in the centre of the city was strategic nonsense, really – and now they would be scrambling to attempt to counter his true plan. Every second now was precious in fortifying their foothold. Giant crates of gear were falling with the soldiers, crates containing e-web blaster cannons, pop-up barricades, power generators, their mini-repulsor coils activating as their altitude sensors registered the ground approaching.

Major Stroud had made it to ground from the second shuttle, jogging up to Aristheron and saluting. “Morning, my lord! Perimeter will established shortly, just leave it to me!”

“I’m counting on you, Major,” Aristheron said calmly, discarding his airbrake and handing it to Stroud to dispose of. Stroud saluted even more briefly and turned to go yell orders into the organized pandemonium. It was pleasing to see his men forming up into disciplined units, the well-oiled machine of the Imperial military at its most impressive. Let the Republic come. They’d not regain the tower now, not with Stroud in command.

And they were coming. He heard the distant whine of heavy repulsors, even of track-treaded vehicles. He could not hear the howl of starfighter engines; perhaps they too were having trouble in this hurricane. They were on the ball, at least, moving as predicted. But they were Stroud’s concern, not his.

The tower loomed over them, dark in the shadow of the storm; right overhead he could see clear sky, lightening in the dawn, up to where faint red and green flickers pulsed in space. But though the sky might hint at hope and freedom, the tower did not, overshadowed by the black raging clouds ringing them in on all side. And at the top… somewhere up there was the cloying darkness that used to be a Jedi, the creature that had sunk through madness to evil. He could sense it now, a curse radiating over the city, diffusing into the turbulent currents of the Force that had so confused his insight earlier.

Aristheron flicked a nod to his Force-wielding companions; they were the only ones coming with him. Murlesson was slouched over, his Force-sense’s twisted agony only slightly lessened by the distraction of active combat, and Ashara was staying well away from him; her proximity seemed to cause him greater pain. At least she was overcoming the dissonance inside her that came from fighting the Republic.

Janelle was half-meditating, her impatience and righteous passion barely under control. From the outside, she might look calm as a Jedi Master, but he knew better. She would make a very good Light-sided Sith, if she ever chose to join him fully. Though he suspected her plan was to return to the Republic once Giri was destroyed, and he would not gain-say her. Though they might meet again on the field of battle in the future, he would ever respect her as a former friend and ally.

Vany tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to her, she reached up to kiss him. “I’m going to go chill with Stroud now. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Take care,” Aristheron said to her softly, unable to completely unbend even in this moment.

“Go flatten that guy,” Vany said, giving him a smile that strengthened his resolve, hiding her own trepidation for him outwardly at least. She pushed her lekku back over her shoulders and marched over towards Stroud with determination, checking her little pistol’s power pack as she went.

“Come,” Aristheron said to the Force-using strike team, and led them towards the entrance of the tower, cutting through the front doors. There were guards within the tower as well, and early-morning staff caught off-guard and scrambling to escape. Xalek dashed forward to kill the guards before they could fire off too many shots in their direction, but Aristheron had ordered that civilians be allowed to run if they wished. The only thing that mattered was Giri. The elevators had not been locked down, but Aristheron knew Giri would not be taken unawares no matter how swiftly they assaulted him.

He exited the elevator into the observation deck’s public lobby, a chamber that was somehow simultaneously kitschy and elegant, his companions at his back, and the Darkness that met him was like a blow in the face, like the stench of a diseased corpse. It was just like the previous night, but it was as if it had seeped into the walls here. He heard Ashara gag softly. And there was something underneath, something _else_ terribly wrong, something he couldn’t put his finger on yet…

Kel Reu Giri stood before them, at the top of a sweeping ramp; impassive as all Duros were, red eyes cold and aloof. “So the cowards return.” His will reached out to them, his presence horribly strong even without being directed. The storm of the planet was centred on this man, yet Aristheron let himself become still, an immovable point in it all. “I hoped you would come, to save me the trouble of hunting you down yet again.”

“Your campaign of destruction ends here,” Aristheron said quietly. “I will not let you threaten my people any longer. Even if they now belong to the Republic, the house of Laskaris has not forgotten them!”

Giri snorted. “Republic, Imperial, or neither – they serve the Sith, and stand against the Light. Thus their lives are forfeit. I will destroy you with them, and with you I will destroy all the Sith.” He almost smiled mockingly. “So fear not. Once you are dead, I will have no need to kill more worlds, worthy or unworthy. Besides, what do you care, _Sith_?”

“Why do you not care?” Janelle demanded, stepping forward to stand beside Aristheron, her lightsaber in her hand but unlit. “What you say goes against all the Jedi teachings! A Jedi is not to attack, only defend! Never to kill unless absolutely necessary!”

“Yeah!” Ashara cried. “My masters taught me that too – a Jedi is to feel compassion for all beings and aid the weak!”

“You are foolish and deluded, both of you,” Giri said contemptuously. “There is no emotion for a Jedi, but there will be no peace for the galaxy while a single Sith lives.”

“Gosh!” Ashara exclaimed. “’No emotion’ doesn’t mean ‘be a sociopath’!”

“And I suppose you think you are a good Jedi?” Giri said to her. “I can sense your emotions from here. You overflow with them, just like the Sith you stand beside.”

“Your taunts are meaningless,” Aristheron said as Ashara fumbled for words. He took a step forward and so did all those with him, their determination a reflection of his own implacable resolve. “For yes, we stand together, Sith and Jedi, against you! No matter our differences, we all know who is the greater threat here. You have Fallen, and are no longer an opponent worthy of respect.”

“Fallen?” Giri said. “I am no Sith.”

“No,” Aristheron said. “You are sick. You are an abomination that is neither Jedi nor Sith, a monster without nuance, a dangerous beast to be put down.”

“Your opinion means nothing to me,” Giri said. “You are the ones who must be put down, all of you, and I have done what is necessary to accomplish it. Sabran!” He flicked his hand and a body was dragged forward from the chamber behind to tumble halfway down the ramp, rolling to a stop on its face, a short-ish human in a Jedi tunic with unkempt hair spilling over the floor, blue dyes fading to greenish brown at the roots. It groaned and moved feebly.

Janelle gasped, tears in her voice. “Sabran- What has- What have you done!?” _This_ was the source of that other horribly wrong feeling, the silent screams of another soul out of its mind with torment, so weak that Giri drowned it out almost entirely. And the souls beside him were torn between fury and sorrow, and his own echoed them. He had respected Sabran, and this injustice enraged him.

“Only what I needed to do with what was available to me.” Giri twitched his fingers, and the human was telekinetically dragged up to a position resembling standing. Its skin was ashen and clammy with sweat, eyes unfocused, every muscle limp. And there was something shiny and metallic… _embedded_ in its chest just peeking out from the collar of the tunic.

“The Weeper,” Murlesson murmured, the first thing he’d said nearly all day, his voice raspy with disuse and hatred.

Aristheron’s lightsaber blazed to scarlet light in his hand.

“And now your lives are mine,” Giri said, raising his own lightsaber to strike.

Sabran breathed, and lifted its head, staring at them with hollow eyes. “…not like this… please…”

“Sabran!” Janelle screamed, dashing forward, green saber shimmering, over Murlesson’s croaking warning shout. Aristheron gritted his teeth and dashed after her; she was breaking formation, disobeying orders and committing tactical suicide, but he would not let her charge headlong into this fight alone-!

Yellow came crashing down on green as Sabran fell forward again, into Aristheron’s arms, Giri distracted by Janelle’s reckless defense.

She hesitated, staring up at the man who had once been her teacher, even briefly.

He did not.

The yellow saber came carving down in an arc, bashing Janelle’s hasty guard out of the way, slashing across her chest. She froze, eyes wide in shock, as did they all. Her lightsaber fell from her hands, clattering and buzzing on the floor, and rolled down the ramp.

She choked and fell, her front a smoking ruin. “No!” cried Ashara, shrilly, uselessly, much too late and too far back.

Sabran’s face contorted, too weak even to cry out in pain, as the Force suddenly surged through it, through the Weeper, triggered by Janelle’s last breath leaving her body. Giri chuckled softly as the Force swirled around him, drawn into him. “Thank you, Janelle Wouters. Your sacrifice was unexpected, but will not be forgotten.”

“No…” Sabran gasped, choking, squinting through eyes barely able to open. “Jan – why…”

Aristheron laid down the body of his former rival and stood, raising his lightsaber.

Giri grimaced, inhaling through his teeth, and flung out his hands. The Force erupted in a flood of power, lancing towards them all, unbearable icy spears of Darkness. The hurricane outside rattled the windows and the tower shook. Aristheron gasped and stumbled back, a hand going to his chest though he could not touch his heart through his armour.

Was this Giri’s ultimate attack? Was this the entire result of the ritual he’d spent a month preparing? That couldn’t be it. It had hurt, had nearly torn his spirit from his body, but ultimately it had shattered against his will. It had destroyed the cloak of Shadow that he protected his true nature with, and he straightened to his full, commanding height to glare Giri in the face, the Light burning hot within him.

But the others-! Gasping noises caught his attention, and he glanced quickly around to see the others had to a one been knocked down. They lay as if dead, their Force presences faint and fading. Xalek was the most faint; Aristheron almost missed his pulse at first. Khem Val, even though he was no Sith, or perhaps because he was no Sith, was unconscious. Ashara had fallen over, and though she was still moving, her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Before them Janelle still lay motionless, Sabran beside her. And Murlesson-

Murlesson was plastered against the wall as if the Force had physically impaled him, head slumped on his chest. As Aristheron watched, he slid sideways to land heavily on the floor; his mask cracked against it with a metallic whack.

“Interesting,” Giri said. And then, furiously: “How could this be!? You alone stand – you who should have been brought the lowest!”

Aristheron turned back to glower even more fiercely at his nemesis. “I am not what you thought, it seems.” Behind him he could hear Ashara haltingly calling Murlesson, shaking him. “And now you will pay for your assumptions.”

“You-!” Giri snarled, unable to form words. He raised his saber and lunged to attack.

Aristheron set his teeth and met him head-on, heart afire with the utter certainty of his course. The Light was peace, and clarity, and control – not gained through serenity and release, as Janelle used it, but exercised through all the passion of his emotions, his love, his duty, his justice, set free to fight for what he believed in. _That_ was what it meant to be a Sith of the Light, no matter what the ignorant said. He would avenge the fallen and defend the living, for that was his solemn duty.

And so he fell upon Giri in a tumult of scarlet light and gold-and-black armour, strength tempered with speed and skill. Giri matched him blow for blow, their sabers crackling and hissing against each other like an electrical storm. Thrust was met by deflection, counterthrust turned aside by parry.

“How do you still live!?” Giri growled from behind his yellow blade. “What unholy power protects you from my might?”

“Even now, when it is staring you in the face, you cannot accept the truth, it seems,” Aristheron answered in a low, tight voice. Passion flowed through him and he checked it before it broke loose. “Is it so hard to conceive of a Sith who uses the Light?”

“Impossible! The Sith are Darkness! That is all they are, all they have ever been, and all they will ever be! To be a Sith is to be Dark!”

“And to be a Jedi is only ever to be Light?” Aristheron asked sardonically, striking a heavy blow on Giri’s guard and forcing him back a pace. “Tell me what you wield, then! Tell me, _Jedi_!”

“I have turned your own Darkness against you, to consume you with your own sins! I use the Light to control Darkness, to defeat it forever!” And he felt it beating against his mental defences, seeking to throw him backwards, to choke the life from him, to rend him apart.

“You lie to yourself,” Aristheron said contemptuously, setting his stance like granite. “You have lied to yourself for a long time, unable to-”

“Silence!” Giri said, locking blades and leaning into him, pressing him back with sheer weight. “I will not be lectured by a Sith who cannot even admit his own lies!”

“I do not lie,” Aristheron said coldly. It was beneath his dignity to lie. Disguise his Light, yes, that was necessary. Use falsehoods to prevail instead of the strength of his arm and will, no. “I am a Laskaris.” He broke the saber lock, spinning away, returning to the attack with looping swings and breaking the pattern with a jab. Giri parried fluidly.

To be perfectly frank, it was a release to let go of his shields and fight Giri without hiding his true self. His life had been defined by honour, and self-control, and the concealment of his true nature, ever since he was a young boy. Even when his mother had been discovered as a Light-side Sith and killed, on a journey far away from Talcene, his father’s teaching had never wavered. _Remember: you must never let go of the Light, and you must_ never _let them see it. They will kill you if they discover you follow the Light, but they do not understand it is simply another path to true power. Those who follow the Sith Code to the letter lose control and die. Remember: you are not like them. You are a Laskaris_.

“To be a Laskaris means nothing,” Giri hissed. “You are alone – the vaunted leadership of your family is wasted. Your arrogant words about standing together against me mean nothing now.”

He was Aristheron Laskaris of Talcene. He was Lord of the Sith. He would stand against evil no matter the circumstances. “You understand nothing. I am not alone.”

Giri flung out a hand and sent him flying backwards just as he’d done the day previously, though now Aristheron fought it, had room to fight it, brought himself down to the floor to skid backwards across its polished surface with a squeak of bootsoles. “Oh yes, the Force is a powerful ally. But it is my ally as well – and even if I cannot destroy you solely with the Force as I had hoped, I am still stronger than you now.”

That might be true, he mused as he straightened from his three-point crouch, ready to charge back in. He was finding it difficult to penetrate Giri’s defenses, and it wasn’t simply through swordsmanship alone that Giri held him off. “I beg to differ.”

“Do you really? How stubborn of you.” Giri gestured again, now blasting past his guard, slamming him into the wall, the ceiling, the floor. He grunted and groaned, his whole body jarred with pain, his wounds from the previous day stinging intensely.

He couldn’t die here. If he died, Vany would cry, and that was unacceptable. He dragged himself back up, face and shoulders set in grim determination, blood trickling from his temple. This could not stop him. “Be that as it may, I am not alone.”

There was a sound from the edge of the room, a gasping grunt and a whisper of robes, and they both turned to see Murlesson raising himself – first on his arms, and then, in a very wobbly fashion, to his feet. Ashara had crawled to him, and now gazed up at him in hopeful wonder, still too weak to stand herself, not that she didn’t try. “Murlesson!” she cried softly.

“Impossible,” Giri said flatly, sounding almost like he used to when Aristheron had first begun to tangle with him. “Not you as well.”

Murlesson gave a low, rasping chuckle. “I can’t die. Not yet. My life is not yours to take, they tell me.”

That gave Aristheron a shiver of horror. It had not been bravado when he said he wasn’t alone, yet he hadn’t meant it literally either, only that while he had people to fight for, he could never be alone. Murlesson should have truly died, Giri’s massive attack should have worked perfectly on the young man so filled with Darkness beyond his years, yet the dead who clung to him bound him to his own body. Was that the true reason he’d sought them out to face Thanaton with? He was willing to go so far for his revenge?

Murlesson shrugged. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. Painful, yes, but don’t you know Zabrak have a very high pain tolerance?” He took a stumbling step forward. “So… ready to try dying yourself? It’s fun. You’ll like it.”

Giri had been staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You say your life is not mine to take… You’ll forgive me if I test the truth of that statement.”

“People who threaten me have an appalling mortality rate,” Murlesson said. “Of course, so do people who threaten Aristheron, so… carry on. You’re doing a marvellous job.” Aristheron withheld his amusement.

Giri snorted. “I know who you are, boy. Lost scion of Kallig, Aristheron’s little hanger-on, mad consumer of ghosts. You haven’t killed Thanaton yet. What are you doing wasting time here?”

“Why do you care?” Murlesson growled. “I’m here to help Aristheron kill you and that’s all you need to worry about.” He raised his arms, with an effort.

Giri forestalled him with an upraised hand, smiling a little, like he knew some amusing little secret. “You want knowledge, hmm? You want power? What would you do with it, if you had all you wanted?”

Murlesson hesitated, but then his fingers tensed, power surging around him. “I’d settle for living, first of all.”

Giri shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You set the bar so low, _boy_ , young ignorant boy, for you do not know what awaits – if you live past this hour. You want to punish those who hurt you, don’t you? You want control. You want to rule the galaxy – and spread your suffering to every corner of it like a cancer, to try to fill the insatiable empty void of your soul.”

“No I don’t!” Murlesson snarled, power building around him. “I just want to be left alone by the likes of _you!_ ”

“Ha! That’s a lie. Laskaris might not lie, but you do. You think your dreams are awash in blood now – what will it be like when you’ve borne your burden another decade or two?”

“Shut up!” Murlesson howled, his voice cracking, lashing out with lightning in barely controlled rage. Giri blocked him easily. Murlesson was swaying, he was about to collapse again, too disoriented to be logical or thoughtful about this.

“Ashara, support him!” Aristheron ordered, stepping forward to attack again, breath caught and ready for more. “Giri’s words are meaningless. He seeks only to weaken you!”

Giri snorted. “Certainly, I seek to defeat your little friend with words, but my words are the truth.”

“Like hell!” Murlesson snarled, reaching out with clawed hands. “Get him, Aristheron! I have your back.”

Aristheron couldn’t help a tight grin. He could feel the turmoil threatening to break free from Murlesson’s tormented soul, but with Ashara’s help, he was keeping it together long enough to make it through this. He spun his lightsaber and slashed forwards, putting Giri on the defensive, driving him back across the chamber. The Force hissed around him, Murlesson putting his own pressure on Giri.

With Giri’s attention divided, Aristheron was a match for him now, no longer the sole target of that overwhelming might. He could regain his steadfast assurance, his grounding, his Light shining in defiance of the Darkness that surrounded them, gnawing at them; he was their shield and their sword as Murlesson was his own shield.

But Giri was hardly giving up simply because Aristheron had decided to be an immovable object. Now that he was being pressed, the intensity of his attacks increased, sacrificing some finesse for sheer force, an unrelenting torrent of blinding strikes raining down on Aristheron’s guard. There was no time to breathe, no time to react, no place to retreat. Aristheron gritted his teeth harder and stood his ground, lightsaber humming savagely as he met every strike. But Giri was cracking, leaving himself open in his ferocious assault, and the first moment Aristheron got, he jabbed back, forcing Giri to back off. They separated, breathing hard, glaring at each other over their sabers.

“You cannot win,” Giri hissed. “Your friends are dying. Kallig was dying before he ever set foot in here.” He began to gather his Force strength again, wind beginning to rise in the enclosed area.

“That won’t work,” Aristheron warned him quietly. “You’ve given everything you had to learn how to defeat the Dark. But I am not Dark – nor is the galaxy so cleanly divided. You cannot destroy me with that.”

“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it yet again!” Murlesson rasped, flinging the Force around Aristheron, Darkness sheltering Light against this new assault.

“Don’t test me, boy!” Giri growled, baring jagged Durosian teeth, the full storm of the Force falling upon them. Aristheron nearly flinched at its ferocity, the rage and hatred of an entire planet and a single madman washing over them, the channels that reached out to the forgotten wilderness twisting and converging and plunging down at them in a ruthless and virulent deluge.

“Sure, I’m dying!” Murlesson spat back, straining to withstand it all. “But if this is the last thing I ever do… I will make sure Aristheron ends you!”

“What-!” Giri roared; he was shaking himself, even with all the strength of the Weeper barely able to hold onto the storm. “You-!”

Murlesson hissed, barely audible under the howling wind, the screaming of the Force; the windows exploded and the duracrete walls were beginning to crumble, lightning flashing through everything, reaching out to the storm outside and its thick, black clouds. Aristheron could feel it – the channels of the Force, gradually torn away from Giri’s command, unbinding from Giri’s presence. And with that much energy in one place…

“Can you control it!?” he demanded.

“You can do it!” Ashara cried, reaching up to him, sending her strength to him – and so were all the others, Xalek, Khem Val, even Sabran lifted trembling fingers to him. Aristheron took the opportunity to attack Giri yet again, and yet was beaten back by the sheer strength of the Force between him and his enemy. It was frustrating, but clearly the wrong strategy in this moment. So he held his blade before him and sent his own strength to Murlesson, Light joining with Dark, that he might shatter this shield he was slowly prising open from Giri’s grasp.

The Force writhed and twisted, caught between two master powers, and with a small explosion, control broke. Everyone else was flattened to the floor yet again, and even Aristheron found himself falling to one knee as his footing slipped. What was left of the outer wall of the observation deck was blown outwards, and the only reason why the inner wall wasn’t equally demolished, bringing the entire top of the tower down, was due to the core of the tower being resistant to anything short of an orbital bombardment.

Aristheron dragged himself up yet again. Who had won? Had anyone won? He was still alive, so he had not yet lost.

Murlesson was still standing, somehow, Darkness holding him up nearly against his own body’s abilities, hands still outstretched and clawing at the Force. And across from them, Giri hovered, helpless, his control severed, the Force that had been empowering him now beginning to bind around him – to consume him-!

Giri screamed wordlessly. Murlesson gestured, the full weight of the planet’s Darkness gathering around him, behind him – forming that deadly spear that Aristheron had seen twice before, now laced with lightning. He had no words either, no strength or concentration left for speech. Slowly, painfully, he thrust his hands forward, and that endless spear of Darkness leapt forward, striking Giri.

The screaming grew louder, Giri’s presence collapsing in on itself, his shields destroyed utterly yet his spirit yet too strong to be snuffed out instantly the way he’d tried to do to them.

“Now, Aristheron!” Murlesson cried hoarsely. “Kill him! Kill him now!”

Aristheron lunged forward, and his saber found Giri’s heart.

The Force shrieked around him, the final release of a planet’s haunted forgotten secrets, throwing him back once more, tearing at the edges of his soul. Giri trembled at the blow, and his body seemed to disintegrate into itself. His voice lingered on the wind…

And then suddenly, finally, it was quiet.

Aristheron found himself lying face-first on the battered floor, his lightsaber still in his hand and an ache through his whole being. Of Giri there was no sign, neither physical nor metaphysical. Not a glimmer of his presence remained.

The chamber was a wreck, open to the sky overhead and all along the back wall, surprisingly free of duracrete rubble – it had all been blown away in the unbelievable clash of energy that had been released. The storm was quieting outside, no longer billowing in rapidly whirling clouds, and it seemed to have gotten lighter; Darkness no longer drowned everything in dread. His companions were scattered about the chamber, seemingly unconscious or dead. He went to them quickly, beginning with Murlesson. The young man still breathed, barely, his presence a slowly smouldering shadow of its unnatural self. Perhaps the explosion had taken its toll on his ghosts, as well. He could not tell if he would live; he’d already cheated death once today. He had to check on the others first.

Ashara would be fine once she woke – and as he touched her brow, she did wake, blinking groggily up at him. “Did… did we win? We won, right? You wouldn’t be helping me if we didn’t win.”

“Yes,” he said as she sat up. “Well done.”

She blushed and looked away quickly. “I didn’t do anything. I just helped Murlesson.”

“Without each and every one of us giving him strength, we might not have prevailed. You were the first, so I thank you.” The Light in her had protected her, just as the Light in him had protected him, though her will was not as strong as his. Nearly, though. She was a stubborn woman, only… easily swayed by feelings, easily taken by surprise.

“Um… you’re welcome!” She glanced at him shyly, grinning with a friendly camaraderie. No wonder Murlesson was fond of her. “How is he?” She crawled over to him hurriedly, her sense shifting to terrified worry. “Oh gosh. Oh no. Please don’t die! We made it! C’mon!”

Aristheron left them and went over to Murlesson’s subordinates. Xalek’s presence was weak; his defences had been vulnerable to Giri’s manipulations. Khem Val likewise, though his distorted spirit burned fiercely somewhere deep within him. They would wake given time.

Janelle was truly dead, slashed through the heart. Her eyes were closed, and her face was surprisingly peaceful. Aristheron felt his own heart heavy within him. What could he have done to save her? What could have broken Giri’s control over Sabran before she was compelled to rush to save its life? It was not good to wonder ‘what if’, and yet… it was hard not to, in this moment.

He had liked her; she had looked up to him, listened to him discuss the unusual tenets of his house, fascinated as she was by the idea of a Light-Sided Sith; she had sought out other Light-Sided Sith of her own volition and encouraged them to ally with Talcene and his father, even in secret. And of course, watching her play up the persona of a sarcastic, bloodthirsty Sith apprentice to fool suspicious Imperials and low-ranking Sith was very amusing, as she was not any of those things, and not really a great actress. High-ranking Sith he’d kept her away from, for everyone’s protection. Perhaps in a similar way to how Murlesson shielded Ashara, for Ashara had no cloak of shadow the way Aristheron did, as he’d shown Janelle how to weave about herself.

And now she was gone; she would never see the Republic again, nor the Jedi, nor even her best friend.

Sabran was still and cold, its pale skin even paler than normal, but its spirit still clung to life deep inside it. But the device latched onto its chest glittered malevolently, as inert as it could ever be now that Giri was not calling upon it, yet still drawing power to itself through its unwilling host, sapping its remaining strength.

This would be delicate work, and he couldn’t rely on any of the others. Force, he could barely rely on himself, he was so weary, but this was no time to falter. If he did not do it, the others would not be able to.

He did not know how the Weeper had been removed from the child he’d first met with it some time ago, whether it had been surgeons or Sith or a combination thereof that had released it from the child’s flesh. It was true they might have simply killed the child and told him otherwise, though such a thought was abhorrent to him. He had not been powerful enough then to insist on supervising. But he was no surgeon, and Sabran probably did not have time to make it up to the Kyvernitis for treatment. It was stronger than the child had been, and yet it had borne this for… how long now? Weeks? Siphoning the energy of a planet, controlled by its former master, giving the last of its strength to Murlesson to defeat that master… If something was not done _now_ , it would be too late. Even as he listened, Sabran’s heart fluttered, Darkness clawing at the last dregs of life in it.

So Aristheron concentrated, feeling how metal claws latched through skin, how Dark intent wove into soul, and one agonizingly slow twitch at a time, extracted the artefact from the body of his former rival. The instant it came free, with a disconcerting dripping of blood, he slashed it in half.

The results were somewhat anticlimactic; the two halves went flying in different directions, there was a tiny ‘poof’ in the Force as it relinquished what little power it had drawn on in the last five minutes, and no further reaction was forthcoming. Aristheron found that acceptable. He would complete its utter destruction later, to prevent any possible salvage and abuse, but at least now Sabran was free.

And waking up. “Ungh… Ar… Aristheron? Hi.”

“I believe you will survive,” Aristheron said, kneeling beside it. “Do not strain yourself now. Giri is gone.” How strange it was… they’d dueled for months, and now he was taking care of it.

Sabran blinked once, relief beginning to spread across its features… and then crumpled into grief. “Jan…”

“She is dead,” Aristheron said quietly.

“I know,” Sabran said, and raised itself to sitting. Aristheron would have tried to stop it, but though weak, its movements were purposeful. It put a hand to its wounded chest and another to its face, though it made no attempt to halt the tears beginning to fall. “She loved me. I knew she did, but we never talked about it, because it was discouraged among Jedi, and because I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

“I thought she did, though she never said it outright,” Aristheron said.

Sabran sniffled. “I couldn’t, though she was my best friend, and she knew, and she accepted it, and she died for me.” It took a deep breath, a sigh, then opened red-rimmed brown eyes trembling with emotion and resolve. “There is no death. There is only the Force. She is at peace with her decision.” Another sigh. “And Master Giri is gone as well. I can only hope he finds whatever peace he was denied in life.”

A low, sharp chuckle cut through the air, and he turned quickly to see Murlesson lurching his way back to standing yet again, leaning on Khem Val. “The peace he was denied? You make it sound like it’s not _entirely_ his own fault he was a hateful lunatic.”

Sabran bit its lip. “I… He… That may be true, but-”

“But nothing!” Murlesson cried, voice rasping with violent emotion. “There is no peace in death. There is no peace in this galaxy! None! I have seen death, I have lived with death, I have dealt death! If there is peace in death, everything I have done is a lie!”

“Why?” Ashara whispered. “Who?”

“I did everything I could to make sure Netokos rotted in the fires of all hells forever! Him and all his wretched miserable underlings! And I’ll do the same for Thanaton! I rejoiced when Lachris was killed! And what of Giri, who was a greater monster than Netokos? _What about me!?_ ”

“No one is undeserving of redemption, even after death,” Sabran said sadly. “I truly believe it, even now. Even Master Giri. Even you.” Ashara nodded.

“I refuse to believe that!” Murlesson was screaming, the mask unreadable but his body language tight as a coiled spring, shaking violently and leaning towards them as if he wanted to attack them too. Khem Val stumbled away, and if that beast were surprised and afraid, everyone else ought to be as well. “And if you believe that I hate you as much as I hate them! They deserve everything they got and more for eternity! _I hate them!!_ ”

“Murlesson,” Aristheron said, taking a step towards him, towards that outburst of pain that washed over them all, intense and personal and unbearable. He would bear the brunt of this outburst, shield the others, even though his normally-unwavering conviction had been shaken. He… had never known these were his true thoughts – this was the truth, wasn’t it? This was what his father had warned him about. This was what happened when a Sith lost control.

And yet, he somehow found it difficult to say Murlesson was at fault for it. Who could bear such a burden? He did not know how his former owner had abused him, yet this black hatred spoke enough. “I understand you were hurt-”

“You understand _nothing!!_ You’re the worst of them all, you _aristocrat_ , so above everything, with your kriffing _pride_ and your _self-control_ and your frakking godsdamned _Light!_ You’ve never felt this and you’ll never feel it so shut your frakking noble mouth!”

Aristheron’s eyes flashed, but he held onto his temper.

“Murlesson,” Ashara begged, tears in her eyes. “Please, don’t. You’re tired, you’re hurt-”

“What do you care!?” Murlesson flinched away from her, grinding his teeth. “ _You_ don’t have any idea either, growing up all _safe_ and _cared for_! I’m not worth- no one is worth saving! Go ahead, waste your time! I can’t be redeemed and you’re an idiot for trying. Peace is a lie. There is only death! _Death!!_ ” He was sobbing in his screaming – sobbing, or laughing? Aristheron couldn’t tell. Peal after peal of staccato hysterical hiccups rang out, laughter and sobs and other snorting, choking noises – choking, _choking_ , retching, vomiting, bent double and and dripping thin, bile-filled drool from under the mask-

And suddenly, mid-heave, he stopped short, frozen in place.

“M-Murlesson?” Ashara asked softly, her heart in her voice.

Murlesson straightened, but there was something… wrong about it. His movements were… jerky, and uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure where his balance was. A hand went awkwardly to his face and pulled away the mask, and Aristheron nearly lost his composure in shock. He had not seen Murlesson without his mask in some time, but he did not remember him looking like _this_. The young Zabrak’s red skin was sallow, less vibrant, thin, tapestried with black threads; there was still bloody vomit hanging from his mouth and chin and what looked like blood around his eyes – his eyes! His eyes were wrong. This was not his friend!

The Zabrak coughed and spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the floor, and laughed, a sound that made Aristheron’s skin crawl. “Finally, our time has come.”

“No!” Ashara shrilled. “You put that mask back on right now! Let him alone!”

The ghosts behind Murlesson’s eyes looked at her with mocking contempt. “This useless thing? Whyever should we do such a thing?” Still staring at them with his head tilted at an odd angle, the Zabrak flung out his hand, and the mask tumbled into the sky, falling from the tower. Aristheron watched his movements with horrified fascination; they were clumsy, like a poorly-programmed droid, and the posture was askew as if they could not figure out how to stand naturally. “Don’t worry. He has accepted this fate. He’s said many times he was resigned to meet his end at this point. He said just now, even. Didn’t you, boy?”

It was as if a switch had flicked; a shriek erupted from Murlesson’s mouth as he suddenly hunched in on himself, hands clawing at his face and head, then reaching out to them desperately, yellow eyes wide and wild with panicked terror, shedding tears of water and blood. “ _No no no no no no please no please, I don’t, please help me I don’t want to-_ ”

Ashara jumped forward and was flung back, the ghosts seizing control once again, putting an end to the heart-rending screams. “He’s much better at begging today, isn’t he? It seems he was lying again; he _said_ he didn’t care anymore. But what he wants is no longer important.”

“No!” Ashara cried. “ _Let him go!! Please!!_ ”

Murlesson’s hand lifted, and everyone was knocked backwards with a lightning-filled Force push. Aristheron fell back, gritting his teeth against the sudden pain. Murlesson still retained all of his immense power; Aristheron could not stop him, not now after that last fight. “Goodbye, little fools.” He stepped backwards and vanished over the edge.

Ashara’s scream hung in the air, and Aristheron had to lunge forward to seize her before she jumped after him. “Let me go! I-”

“We cannot help him here and now,” Aristheron told her, though his own heart urged him towards reckless action like her. He could no longer see Murlesson, but his heart told him that he was not dead yet. “We cannot follow him like this. We need a plan.”


	29. Don't Forget Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I had been planning since I began writing this story, like two years before. Soundtracks: general mood is [Corpse Party: Nightmare of the School Years](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTuEQRZZMU8&feature=youtu.be) (one of the best tracks on the OST imo), I used [If by Ayane](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-tcp4onF04) for Ashara’s determined charge, and I can finally, finally bust out the main theme song which is [Jonathan Young's cover of Unravel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVpJGGQHSqc)! WHOO LET’S F-ING GO, LET’S DO THIS, BABY

Part 29: Don’t Forget Me

Ashara tried to will the elevator to go faster, only one thing on her mind – to catch up with Murlesson and… and… She wanted to beat the ghosts out of him, but how could she do that? If it were so easy, Murlesson would have done it a long time ago. He was much cleverer than she was, after all. Her heart hurt, her eyes hurt, she wanted to scream and cry and collapse in despair.

Logically, there was nothing to be done. Zash had looked, and Ashara and Drellik had helped her look, and they’d all found nothing about unbinding Force ghosts or curing the malevolent effects of possession by Force ghosts. Logically, Murlesson was gone, practically already dead, and the ghosts were all that was left.

But those screams still rang in her ears and she shuddered, trying still not to cry. She was going to get him back, come hell or high water. She just wished she knew what to do or how to do it.

She managed to pull herself out of her own head by the bottom of the elevator. She was helping Xalek to carry Sabran, who was shockingly light for its height, even though it was a lot shorter than she was. It had probably undergone weeks of abuse. Probably needed a dip in kolto and a _bunch_ of square meals. She didn’t know how it was dealing with everything, with the horrible Sith artifact being gone, with Janelle being dead, with being rescued by Aristheron, but its mind was clouded and she wasn’t going to pry. She wasn’t the only one going through a hard time right now.

Major Stroud met them in the middle of the plaza. “The Republic’s surrendered, my lord! All the fighting has ended.”

Aristheron gave him a look of mild almost-surprise. “Oh, really?”

“Yes,” said a dour, stiff-looking Cathar in Republic uniform behind Stroud. “Commander Ry Min. I’m here to surrender to you, Lord Laskaris. Your forces were… overwhelming.” Ashara wondered if she detected a hint of confusion – why risk restarting the war with two whole fleets on _Salvara_ of all places when there were much better targets elsewhere? Or something like that, probably. It was a good question, but it was all tied up in Force business that Aristheron probably had no inclination of explaining.

“Splendid,” Aristheron said distantly. “I accept. Major, I’m needed elsewhere-”

“Oi!” Andronikos, Talos, and Vany were also nearby, and now the pirate pointed vehemently at the sky. “That’s my- that’s our ship! Who’s in the Viper?”

Ashara sniffled. “Murlesson’s gone, Andronikos. The ghosts finally won. I bet that’s him.”

“What?” Andronikos wrinkled his nose in dismay. “Poor bugger. What’s the plan, then?”

“Oh, that explains why a body came falling out of the tower,” Stroud said. “My men went to investigate, to see if there was anything left, but they were all killed by lightning and the ‘body’ ran off.”

“Oh no,” Ashara said. “I’m sorry.”

Aristheron was on his commlink. “Clay.”

“Here, my lord,” Commodore Clay answered.

“The Viper appears to be leaving the planet. I want it tracked.”

“Yes, my lord.” If Clay wondered at the order, he wasn’t giving any sign of it.

Aristheron hung up. “Also, Major, there should have been another piece of debris thrown from the tower shortly before the body – a mask. I want it or its fragments found.”

“Yes, my lord!” Stroud turned and passed on the order to a pair of soldiers near to him, and they took off at a run.

Ry Min looked back and forth between them. “May I ask what that was? Ghosts?”

“None of your concern,” Aristheron said smoothly. He thought for a minute, then nodded. “Commander, you and your troops will be returned to the Republic immediately. This world is now back under Imperial control. The Republic has mishandled it and nearly allowed it to come to ruin by Master Kel Reu Giri’s interference.”

Ry Min grimaced. “That’s very generous of you, my lord, to allow us to go free, but by the treaty, Salvara belongs-”

“I am not in the mood to discuss it,” Aristheron said, suddenly cold and haughty. “You are no longer welcome here, Commander. Be glad that I am offering you the chance to retreat honourably.” Huh, that would probably make the Republic a little less upset about losing the planet in the first place. Not by much, though, she’d bet. She hoped Aristheron didn’t get in trouble over it.

The Cathar scowled. “Thank you, my lord. And what of Giri?”

“What of him?” Aristheron said. “He is dead. Tell the Jedi I cleaned up their mess for them before many lives were lost.”

Sabran raised its head. “I can attest to that, Commander.”

“S-Sabran Kentalon!” Ry Min jumped, her green eyes wide. “W-what happened to you?”

“I was used,” Sabran said slowly. “By Master Giri. But he is dead, by Lord Laskaris’s hand. I’m sorry. I couldn’t save him.”

“Will Kentalon also be returned to the Republic?” Ry Min demanded. “You will not be taking it prisoner, will you?”

Sabran shook its head. “I will be going with Lord Laskaris of my own free will. You misunderstand me, Commander. I could not turn Master Giri back to the Light… so Lord Laskaris had no choice but to kill him. And it was the right thing to do. But Lord Laskaris’s friend, Lord Kallig, is in trouble. I… wish to aid him, to repay this debt that I owe.”

“I don’t understand,” Ry Min said. “Kentalon-”

“It is not your decision,” Aristheron said. “I will respect Kentalon’s choice until our paths part ways. Whatever else occurs is not your responsibility. The only thing pertinent to you is that Salvara is Imperial once more, and that is final. Major?”

“Yes, my lord!” Stroud gestured to Ry Min. “Right then, Commander, let’s get your people into transports.”

One nice thing was that Aristheron had the Kollyrion back, Ashara considered. It was a lot like the Viper, except it had a narrower profile, more triangular instead of vaguely hexagonal, and was more luxurious throughout the interior. Somehow they’d all managed to squeeze in, Aristheron, Vany, Ashara, Andronikos, Talos, Xalek, and Khem. And Sabran, currently installed in the tiny medbay on the bottom floor beside the dorm, submerged in kolto for at least 24 hours.

While Vany flew the Kollyrion, Aristheron met with the rest of them in the central lounge on the top floor. Ashara was really glad that he was taking leadership on this. He always seemed to know what to do, whenever she met him; he had the confidence and the resources and she was just amazed by how well he hid his presence in the Force, even though she knew it was necessary. She’d known he was a pretty decent dude, and sure his Light side didn’t feel anything like a Jedi, tinged as it was with aggressive reds and oranges, but she found she liked the idea of a Light-sided Sith. He’d probably be good to negotiate with when it came time to establish a lasting peace with the Empire. Live and let live, especially when the other side was also letting them live, right? Man, her opinion of Sith had changed since she started living with one. A lot of them were still evil and wanted to conquer the Republic and install terrible totalitarian fascist racist sexist governments, but now she knew at least to check before trying to fight them.

And now Aristheron was letting down his guard a little, and that was weird. He was standing with his hands on his hips, frowning at the holoprojector in the centre of the lounge.

“Where’s he going?” she asked.

Aristheron magnified the projection with quick, disgruntled movements. “It appears he’s heading to a planet named Voss.”

“What,” she said. “Giri was just there, Murlesson said you said a couple days ago.”

“Indeed,” Aristheron said. “I recall there is said to be a great concentration of Dark Side energy there, that Giri perhaps visited.”

“Why would the kid want to go there?” Andronikos said. “Er… or his ghosts? It’s his ghosts, isn’t it?”

“I really couldn’t say why for sure,” Zash said slowly. Khem had actually _willingly_ relinquished control temporarily to allow her to speak, and if that wasn’t a miracle in itself, or a sign of how dire things were, Ashara didn’t know what was. “Perhaps they wish to take power from it… perhaps they want to join with it. Perhaps they simply want to take a look at it, curious as they are about the current state of the galaxy, and decide what to do when they get there later. As the entire planet is a recent discovery, I really can’t do more than speculate right now.”

Ashara sighed and grumbled, but she didn’t blame Zash. None of them really knew what they were doing, not even Aristheron.

“When will we arrive?” asked a very deep, very smooth voice, and everyone turned to look, because it was Xalek.

“Two days,” Aristheron said. “We will not be far behind him. The Kollyrion is a match in hyperspace for the Viper. He won’t get away.”

“I didn’t expect you to be the one to ask,” Ashara said in surprise.

Xalek stared at her levelly from behind his bone mask. “Lord Kallig is my master and my warleader. I will either recover him or give him a god’s death.”

“That’s right, we should talk about what to do when we catch up to him!” Talos said. “Er… but that’s really not my area of expertise. If he ends up in a tomb, I can perhaps tell you its historical significance…”

Zash tapped a finger against her chin. “We may have to play it by ear as we go. I can’t feel the Force as I once could, but what I saw up in the tower, while Khem was faffing about being useless…” She shrugged helplessly. “They’re bound to him. Even if he somehow found the strength to reassert his will, he wouldn’t be able to be free of them. He spent so much in that battle, they were able to seize the opportunity to override him before he could recover. And they won’t be letting him recover now.”

“So if we could knock them out for a bit and let him rest, we’d at least get him back, right?” Andronikos said.

“For a little while, but don’t forget he’s still falling apart physically,” Zash said. “Very soon we’d be right back where we started, if we even made it that far.”

“Well, I’m not giving up!” Ashara cried. “I… I can’t believe there isn’t _something_ we can do! I know I thought it was hopeless when you said you couldn’t find a cure, but… I refuse to give up hope now! I mean, I don’t know, maybe all of us together, we can fight the ghosts, or… or something!”

Zash shook her head. “Ever since I ascertained there wasn’t a cure, he was deteriorating fast. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it until after this fight with Giri.”

“He would have been weak and vulnerable then, even so,” Aristheron said. “But now that I am free of that conflict, I will stop at nothing to rescue him. Like Ashara, I have not relinquished hope. But first we must find him and prevent him from running from us again.”

“So Voss, huh?” Andronikos said. “Guess I’ll look up what we can find out on the deep holonet.”

“And I’ll inquire through my own channels,” Talos said. “I’m sure the Reclamation Service has a few notes somewhere, even though we don’t have a large presence there.”

“Can I do anything to help either of you?” Ashara said.

“I will need you to look after Sabran,” Aristheron said to her. “It will be most comfortable in your care, I believe.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. That would keep her occupied, mostly, at least after Sabran was out of kolto. “Thanks, everyone!”

Sabran was out of kolto the following day, but still resting. It needed nourishment, and rest, and as it put it jokingly, a new dye job. The kolto had leeched a bit more of the blue out of its hair, leaving most of it a motley green. But Aristheron didn’t have things like _hair dye_ lying around, and they certainly weren’t making any side trips, so it shrugged with unconcern and went into a meditation for most of the second day. Ashara tried not to be antsy. They were going to arrive at Voss the following day, would it be well enough to join them like it wanted to?

By the end of the day, it was much more alert, and Ashara finally found the courage to ask what had happened with Kel Reu Giri. Sabran was completely willing to talk about it, too. “I’m not very good at telling stories, but, well, let’s see. I always believed in the power of diplomacy over the power of war. Certainly, I’ve enjoyed pitting my blade against Aristheron, but if I ever managed to _kill_ him, I would have been so disappointed. I know he’s been annoyed by my always trying to talk him down during our duels, but anyway, you know.” It gave a wry half-smile. “Annoyance at me talking too much or too pacifistically is really a minor thing in the grand scheme of things. So I like to keep talking.”

“I respect that,” Ashara said. “I… am no good with words, and I don’t really have the patience to use them instead of fighting, even when I really try. I’ll never be a Master, that’s for sure. I just aspire to be the person you call for when you really need bad guys stopped in their tracks, I know there’s a place for people like me. But what does this have to do with Giri?”

“Oh, right… I told you I’m a bad storyteller. Well, I’ve known for as long as Jan – Janelle – did that Master Giri was Falling. But she wanted to just stop him, to oppose him, to push him back before he hurt anyone. Like you might, I think. I wanted to coax him back, to pull him instead of push. I believed he could be redeemed, right up to the end, even after he betrayed me. So I stayed with him, though after he betrayed me it wasn’t possible for me to leave. But… I guess I was wrong. I couldn’t stop him. I could barely talk him out of some of his worst actions…” It frowned, its soul flickering with unrest. “I couldn’t talk him out of using me.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” Ashara said. “You’re a much better Jedi than me. Giri was just… too crazy. You didn’t have the right environment to succeed. And you needed a lot more back-up, like, say, _the whole Jedi Council?_ Maybe? Geez, they should have helped you more.”

Sabran shrugged. “It is nice of you to say so. I don’t think I would be able to stop trying to talk people over to peace even if it is wrong. But as for the Council… you’re right, but it was important, at least at first, that Master Giri didn’t feel like we were spying on him. That wouldn’t have helped at all. And when things began to get worse… you’re right. I should have found some way to bring him back to the Council.” It was silent for a minute, before shaking off the past. It wasn’t good for a Jedi to dwell on failures. “But anyway, I don’t know when he got the Weeper. I think he raided it from a storehouse of a Darth Emmet, I think Aristheron’s former master. And I didn’t know what it was until… well, I found it shortly after we arrived on Salvara, and asked him about it, because it was clearly a very Dark artifact, and…” Sabran stopped.

“That’s when he betrayed you?” Ashara asked, her heart pounding in reaction to sudden pain from Sabran.

“I think he drugged me,” Sabran said slowly. “I don’t remember much, only feelings. He… felt a little remorse, but mostly… he hardened his heart, and I never felt anything kind from him again. But once he implanted it in me, he didn’t need to drug me anymore. I was just a conduit, barely able to retain consciousness of my own.” It took a deep, calming breath. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Ashara leaned forward and gave it a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. And I’m so sorry about Janelle, I really liked her. We’ve been in touch the last few months, ever since I met her, and…” Ashara swallowed, trying not to cry, but she couldn’t help it. She still didn’t know a lot of people who had died – Master Ryen, Master Ocera, and now Janelle… Every one of them still caused her pain. _There is no death, only the Force. There is no chaos, only harmony_.

Sabran hesitantly reached up to hug her back. “I’m glad you were able to be friends with Janelle. I can tell she would have liked you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Ashara didn’t see much of Voss from orbit, but she was grateful yet again to Aristheron taking charge. Andronikos explained that it was a neutral planet being courted by both the Empire and the Republic, so all foreigners were directed to dock at the relatively small space station in orbit and then take a shuttle to the surface. Additionally, there was no official business for Aristheron to be there on, so the Republic embassy, the Voss government, and even the Imperial embassy attempted to bar them passage. No one remembered seeing Murlesson, but the Viper was also docked there, and when Aristheron demanded they check their security recordings, a lurching hooded figure had been recorded, taking a shuttle to the surface and then vanishing out into the wilderness in the eastern hemisphere. She wondered; surely the ghosts knew how Murlesson could scramble security cameras, so was this a taunt to them? Or had they just not felt like it, content with being unseen by biological security?

Aristheron didn’t deign to raise his voice, but he knew his status, and his resources, and how to use them. ‘Let us in so we can pick up one person who isn’t even supposed to be there or we call in two fleets and destroy years’ worth of diplomatic progress and to hell with the aftermath’ was a crazy way to apply pressure, but no one dared call his bluff, and they were all granted permission to land, every one of their wacky gang. It was massively less subtle than Murlesson would have done, and actually probably a lot riskier, but it was really fast. It sure was nice to have a Sith nobleman on their side!

She had to admit that her first impression of Voss was really, really nice. The city was laid out in a wide-open fashion, in a way that Murlesson would probably dismiss as ‘horribly inefficient’, but his favourite planet was Nar Shaddaa so what could she expect from him anyway. She liked it; it had space to breathe, and was filled with trees and art. And it was on a mountaintop, and right from the shuttlepad she could see for miles and miles, out across a beautiful tawny-coloured autumnal-ish landscape of mountains and forests, even more ruddy in the light of the setting sun. She couldn’t see any other settlements, so the entire planet looked pristine from her current viewpoint.

A grumpy throat-clearing brought her back to her immediate surroundings. A pure-blood Sith was marching up to meet them, flanked by Imperial soldiers and a few Voss soldiers too. She’d seen holos during their research, but she couldn’t help staring now that she saw them in person. They were so colourful, like living paintings! But the Sith was scowling. “Lord Laskaris, I am Darth Severin, Imperial Ambassador to Voss-ka. May I ask what is the meaning of this? You can’t just run roughshod over our mission here just because you _want_ to. Your blundering could cost the Empire months of work!”

“I am not interested in your protests, Darth Severin,” Aristheron said shortly. “The sooner you point us in the direction of Lord Kallig, the sooner we shall depart and leave you in peace.”

Ashara tried not to fidget. Aristheron was supposedly subtly using the Force to keep Severin’s attention on himself, to keep it away from the two obvious Jedi, and that was why she was hanging really far back, but it still made her nervous. _There is no emotion, there is peace. Also, I’m not even here, I’m not important, don’t look at me_.

Severin huffed. “My lord, this is not a tourist resort.”

“I do not think it is,” Aristheron answered coldly. “I am not here to waste your time. This is necessary – unless you want Lord Kallig to go completely mad and ruin your mission far better than anything I could manage. May I remind you he arrived completely undetected?”

“Very well,” Severin said, his expression unrelenting but his aura giving up. “In that case, would you care to follow me to the embassy? There are a few things I should brief you on before you leave the city.”

“Very well,” Aristheron said. “Lieutenant Drellik, with me.”

In a few minutes he was back, and directed them towards an eastbound shuttle headed to the outpost of Gehn’s Overlook. They flew for about an hour, almost half-way across the planet, passing quickly through the night and coming into the sunrise. Aristheron said almost nothing on the flight. Ashara jittered ferociously, joggling one knee after another until Sabran, beside her, took one of her hands and began meditating. It was helpful, and she could try to centre herself, to keep her fears at bay while she couldn’t do anything about them. _Seriously, no emotion, only peace_.

When they landed, Aristheron sought out the local Imperial commander and requested lodging. Ashara thought that was weird, but stayed quiet. They were granted a tent on the outskirts of the outpost, near to the defensive walls. They weren’t stopping here, were they?

“Okay, what’s up?” Vany said the moment they made it to the tent. “What’s the scoop?”

Aristheron nodded, looking to make sure no one else was listening in, and pointed at the forest outside the camp, a forest that stretched back into dark, ominous mountains. “Murlesson took the shuttle here, arriving in the local morning several hours ago, and disappeared into those mountains. The area is known as the Forbidden Lands, and the very centre of it is known as the Dark Heart.”

“Sounds dramatic,” Andronikos grunted. “Why is it forbidden?”

“Oh, is this where that entity lives?” Ashara asked. “The Dark Side entity?” She felt it, the dark pall over the land out there, though she couldn’t feel any distinct entities from this distance. But she had no doubt that _something_ was lurking out there.

Aristheron nodded. “In local folklore, it is called Sel-Makor, and it is said to drive mad any who venture near. Darth Serevin himself said that a number of Sith researching on the edge of the forest are losing their grip on sanity, and that’s to say nothing of those who venture in but never came out.”

“No one ever comes out again, do they?” Talos said.

“That’s what I have been told,” Aristheron said. “Sabran?”

Sabran was looking troubled. “Master Giri had sent me away to investigate the planet Felucia while he came here, and he was changed when he returned. Whatever or whoever he encountered or found here, I don’t think it was the cause of his madness… but it made it worse.”

“And now we gotta go in there,” Andronikos said, and grimaced. “Figures. But the kid’s already mad, how much madder can he get?”

< _The pilot is foolish for asking_ ,> Khem said. < _Mad Sith are not to be joked about, for they can_ always _become more mad. And the more mad they become, the more they must be delivered to death_.>

“And here I thought you liked mad Sith,” Andronikos said.

Khem growled at him. < _No one likes mad Sith. Not even other Sith_.>

“Only those who wield the Force should come, and Khem Val, I will not hinder you,” Aristheron said. “Drellik, Revel, I would ask you to stay here and prepare this tent to receive injured – or the insane. Your minds are not trained to withstand such an assault. Vany, I must ask you to stay with them.”

Vany gave him an unhappy look. “I understand. I don’t like being left on the sidelines _again_ while you deal with Force stuff. But I won’t slow you down. Just… please come back, okay? Don’t be another of those spooky unsolved mysteries.”

“I will do my best,” Aristheron said to her.

“Got it,” Andronikos grunted. “C’mon, Drellik, Vany. We don’t know what they’re gonna need when they get back.”

Aristheron turned to the others. “Let us be off. We’ll cut through anything that gets in our way until we reach Murlesson.”

Ashara punched her fist into her other palm. “Sounds like my kind of plan.”

They pushed into the forest together, following the faint traces of Murlesson’s distorted Darkness. The trees were not densely packed, and the sun still shone down between their leaves, but there was a coldness in the air that spoke not of winter but of malice. She felt uneasy, as if they were being watched, feeling hyper aware of all of herself.

Xalek’s lightsaber hummed to life. “Attackers.”

Maybe she wasn’t going crazy, as she saw the people assembling in front of them – there were slack-jawed Imperial _and_ Republic soldiers, but there were also big, sturdy, scaly green humanoids dressed in crude, heavy metal armour and hefting large weapons, both blaster cannons and melee weapons. The strange people gathered from further in the forest, raising their weapons and charging at their little group, who drew their weapons and prepared to meet them.

“Interesting,” Aristheron said. “They are mind-controlled by some Dark power. Whether by Murlesson or Sel-Makor, I cannot say… But they are placed here to slow us down.”

Sabran had drawn its lightsaber along with the rest of them, but it lowered it. “Perhaps we don’t have to fight them. I don’t wish to kill anyone forced to fight.”

“As you wish,” Aristheron said. “But they are already insane. They have no mind of their own left. To slay them now would be a mercy.”

Sabran bowed its head. “You are right. Be at peace, my friends.”

Ashara hesitated. She didn’t want to kill them either. But Aristheron spoke truly, she could feel it in them.

She set her stance and her heart, and charged after Aristheron into the teeth of the oncoming blaster fire.

They won, but that was only the beginning of their battle. There were more zombie-like fighters, in increasingly tattered armour, looking increasingly gaunt, mere husks of whoever they’d been before. The ground grew hilly as they fought onwards, the trees grew more thickly, taller, and more twisted, and signs of ancient civilization began to lurk underfoot and between thickets – a flight of worn stairs here, a crumbling wall here. She wondered if Murlesson would know anything about them, once they got him back.

Finally, the Darkness seemed to run out of bodies to throw at them, settling back into brooding watchfulness from wherever it lurked in the hills. At least, that was how it felt to Ashara. The others were having some kind of greater difficulty, as if their steps were becoming heavier. “Are you guys okay?”

Aristheron squared his shoulders bullishly and stomped forward. “Sel-Makor does not want us here. How is it you still walk freely?”

“It’s her connection,” Sabran said, pale and sweating. It had probably been fighting too much, and now forcing its way through this Darkness…!

“You don’t look so great,” she said. “Maybe you should go back?”

“I can’t go back alone,” Sabran said wryly. “And I don’t think anyone can be spared to go with me. It’s only because all of us are together that we can withstand this pressure enough to continue.”

Aristheron had stopped, looking at her. “Yes, Sabran is correct. You have a connection to Murlesson, far stronger than any of us. You can follow him, because you are the one he cares about most. He must be calling out to you even now.”

Thoughts of those hours spent together a couple nights ago flooded her mind uninvited, and she blushed and looked away – he wasn’t just talking about that! “Well, but you’ve been his friend since Korriban, right? And Khem’s been with him since then too, even if you weren’t exactly friends when you started.”

< _We are still not ‘friends’_ ,> Khem said.

“And I think you’re the biggest tsundere I’ve ever met,” she muttered.

Aristheron looked off into the distance, then back to her. “He does not have a lot of time left. Loathe though I am to suggest it, you may be better off to go on ahead.”

“Alone?” She hadn’t been alone… ever, in her whole life, besides that one time that Murlesson came to save her in the dark forest of Yavin IV.

“The Dark Heart is open to you,” Aristheron said. “But not to us. Not yet. We shall follow you. If there is madness here, we will face it together. But you should wield your advantage, and go to him before it’s too late.”

“Okaydoke.” She wouldn’t be alone, just… ahead. She took a deep breath. “Here I go, then!”

“May the Force be with you,” Sabran said, and its gentle smile buoyed her spirits up, up over all the Darkness in the Forest.

“Thanks,” she said, and turned to run, lightness and freedom returning to her feet, her limbs, her spirit. Whatever power held back the others, she didn’t feel it, and her resolve was stronger than it had ever been in her life before. She still had no idea what she was going to do when she found Murlesson. She had no idea what lay ahead in the Dark Heart. She didn’t know what Sel-Makor was. She really didn’t know anything except how to fight and how to love.

And that was all she needed in this moment. She hopped over a low cliff, rolling at the bottom to soften the impact, and came up to find a horrible monster in her path, its aura filled with hate and bloodlust. It was too slow for her; she darted under a blow from its claws, hopping up its arm to slash at its ugly face, jumping over its head and running off into the forest, never pausing for an instant. Her fighting would keep her alive, and her love drew her on, giving her the determination to make it into the deepest depths of the forest, her aura, her heart shining brilliantly gold and blue.

It bellowed behind her, and more monsters came lumbering out of the shadows of the forest, blocking her way. She didn’t want to fight all of them, even if she’d had the time to, which she didn’t. She skidded under another massive blow, spinning around a third, slashed at a fourth before it connected with her and it drew back its claws with a growl. She couldn’t waste time here. If there was another cliff she could jump off, they might abandon their pursuit of her. Did these things _live_ here?

An opening appeared before her, and she took it, darting through the lower canopy of the trees just out of their reach, and away. She needed to keep up this pace until they stopped following her. Lightsabers off and sheathed on her belt, she could use both hands to help her through the trees, jumping from branch to branch in a way she hadn’t been able to do since she was on Yavin IV. Once she had lost sight of them, she dropped to the ground again, to run steadily, breath flowing through her like a rhythmic river.

When she moved, whether to run or train, her mind cleared, allowing her to see the world around her clearly, and it was clear before her now. She didn’t have to do this. Murlesson was steeped in Darkness, ruthlessly devoted to hurting anyone who hurt him. He hadn’t hurt her yet, but being realistic: there was a very good chance that she would end up dead eventually if she stayed with him. She was Jedi and he was Sith and they fundamentally, irreconcilably disagreed, and if he truly lost his temper at her even one time, if she opposed him on something firmly enough that they came to a physical fight, that might be it for her. Perhaps Kel Reu Giri was right, and letting him disappear and die would remove one more cancer from the galaxy. She knew all these things to be true.

And yet… and yet. Memories of happier times came into her mind – the intensely earnest look that he gave her when he was about to tell her something sweet, the smirk when he figured out something clever, the way he rambled passionately about history – even if it was the bloody side of history. The way he took care of people worse off than him, from his cult to her herself, even while swearing he was being selfish. The feel of his mouth on hers, of his body, vulnerable and trusting, in her arms. She _loved_ him, so much that her heart ached, no matter how hesitantly he returned it, no matter how little he understood it.

And memories of terrible times came to mind, too. The suffering he endured, the screams that broke her heart – if she turned back, he would die without ever having known what it was to live past, like, that one night they went out for drinks. Did he deserve it? That wasn’t up to her to decide. She wanted to save everyone, _including_ him. A few tears ran from her eyes as she hurtled onward. All she wanted was to hold him again and know he was safe. To dare to reach for both of their yearning and find what happiness they could together.

Her breath flowed and her heart beat in her chest. She didn’t have to do this, but she chose to do this anyway. She loved him, and that love protected her from the Darkness that surrounded her, that tried to strike fear into her, to confuse her, to make her turn back. Even if all she could do was be with him as he died, she would do it, because she loved him.

She ran on. No one better try to stop her.

She slowed to a walk in a narrow ravine that ended in a low cliff. There before her was a yawning gap in the earth, trapped beneath the roots of a massive tree, and Murlesson’s trail went into it. A cold wind blew out towards her and she stopped, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath and followed that trail, her blue lightsabers illuminating her way. She could not avoid the feeling that she was being swallowed, and that she would never return to the surface. But she could still sense _him_ – or at least the ghosts possessing him – and what was more, she could see muddy bootprints on the ground.

The tunnel was wide and tall, two speeders could have driven side-by-side down it, and the corners turned at right angles, built of green granite. Who had built this place? But she knew who already just from hanging around Murlesson; it was the Sith, wasn’t it? She thought she recognized some patterns from other Sith places they’d been in. Supposedly the planet had only been discovered recently… but the ruins were old, who was to say the ancient Sith Empire hadn’t come here in forgotten days?

The darkness and dread pressed in on her. She could barely see past her lightsabers, even when she held them low to keep them out of her eyes. She thought she saw eyes in the dark reflecting the light, and raised her blades with a gasp – the eyes were only round raised bits in the carvings on the walls. But the feeling of imminent doom didn’t let up at all.

Then she noticed a hand brushing her arm, and she squeaked and jumped away. Her squeak echoed down the halls, but there was nothing there. She was sure she hadn’t imagined it – there it was again! “Stop that!” she cried, slapping at the invisible hands with her lightsabers. Heavy shivers ran down her spine, between the fear and the cold in here.

There was a growl ahead of her, and she stopped, raising her sabers into a guard position. She saw more eyes glittering in the darkness before her, and she quickly recited the Jedi Code as she stared them down, trying to calm herself, unable to move just yet.

The eyes darted towards her, part of a dark ghostly shape that was just barely visible in the light of her sabers – two ghostly shapes, quadrupedal, with ghostly teeth that looked disconcertingly sharp. Manifestations of the Dark Side, she guessed, creatures of Sel-Makor made to keep out nosy Jedi. Her breath was still coming quick even after saying the Jedi Code, but she moved as her training taught her, and it was enough, blocking the beasts, deflecting their strikes, slashing through their incorporeal bodies. One of them vanished, impaled completely, and the other hissed and lunged at her, knocking her down though she crossed her sabers before her, snapping at her face. She screamed and pulled her blades apart, decapitating it and causing it to also vanish.

She picked herself back up, panting and maybe shaking a little bit. She didn’t have to keep going. She could turn back at any point. And maybe she ought to turn back. She’d come really far. No one could blame her for wanting to preserve her life and sanity. This was too much for one mostly-trained Jedi to face alone. This needed a few dozen Masters to deal with. She could go back, tell the others it was hopeless, and mourn Murlesson with them.

 _She_ would blame herself if she turned back. She would probably die down here, and she was scared, and lonely, and she really didn’t want to die. But turning back now meant she would never be able to live with herself. She needed to be brave. She didn’t feel brave at all. And yet she put one foot in front of the other, and again, and again, and again, her footsteps echoing a little through the long empty halls.

She didn’t know how long she had walked. It felt like forever – surely it hadn’t been that long. This place was like a maze, and the corridor had split many times. If she lost her lightsabers, she would be stuck here, in the dark, until she went crazy or died of thirst. The bootprints before her were no longer leaving muddy tracks, but long scuff-marks through ancient dust, uneven, stumbling. There were dark drops between them, and she jumped and gasped as she saw a bloody smeared handprint on the wall next to her. Her heart wrenched. He really was in a bad state, wasn’t he?

Would she catch up? Maybe these tunnels went on forever.

She shook her head violently. No, that was silly. Nothing went on forever, not a physical location on a planet.

Though she was kind of starting to doubt that she was even physically walking. It felt like it, of course, she felt the stone beneath her feet and the cold air on her face and lekku. But it was all so… dreamlike, that when she turned her head, it seemed slow, that the wall beside her seemed indistinct. This place was getting to her.

She saw a faint light before her and blinked rapidly, trying to see if it went away. It didn’t, so she picked up her pace, trotting towards it curiously. Had Murlesson…?

There were no walls beside her, only darkness, so she wasn’t sure why she thought there was a faint light ahead. She just couldn’t see any walls. Or ceiling. Or floor, for that matter, though she hadn’t switched off her lightsabers yet. Somehow that wasn’t important.

Murlesson hung before her in midair, suspended somehow, his arms limp at his sides and his head fallen onto his chest. His Force-presence was dim, and she could not see his face behind the red hair that had fallen in front of it. “Murlesson!” she called out, not knowing if she was more glad or afraid to have found him.

She was about to rush forward when she saw they weren’t alone. There were the four ghosts, standing around him – she knew their names, if not whose faces they were attached to besides her ancestor. “ _You_ guys!” She’d been wanting to talk to them for ages. Finally, she had the chance. She pointed her right saber at them. “Let him go! …Please.”

“You cannot stop us, and you are foolish for trying,” said her ancestor, Kalatosh. “You really are an annoying girl, though your headstrong stubbornness is typical of many Jedi, even ones older and wiser than you. You ought to leave, but I imagine you would rather seal your fate.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m not running.”

“Why would you fight for him, anyway?” asked Ergast, at least, she was pretty sure it was Ergast. “You know he is truly Sith – a despicable person, you Jedi might say.”

“Reasons you probably wouldn’t understand,” she said firmly. “I love him. By the way, my name is _Ashara_ , get it right.”

Horak-Mul laughed. “ _Love_. It’s the most overrated emotion in the galaxy.”

“He cannot feel love,” Andru said. “Snakes cannot love. They sidle up to you for your warmth, and when they need you no longer, bite you and discard you.”

“You’re lying!” she said. “He loves me! He said so and he was telling the truth, I felt it!”

Horak-Mul snorted. “You trust the word of an adolescent boy experiencing sex for the first time? A broken boy who never knew love in his childhood, who had no one to trust and trusted no one since he was young enough to feel betrayal?”

“Shut up!” She jumped forward with both sabers, and Horak-Mul disappeared to reappear again on her other side. “I know he’s hurting, and _you’re_ preventing him from even trying to heal so that’s on you!”

“He tricked you into joining him, you know,” Kalatosh said, from behind her.

She spun. “What?” Wait, no, this was bait. “You’re lying. Stop running away!”

Kalatosh stepped away from her lunge, smiling broadly. “We have only told you the truth. _He_ was the one who bought the assassins. _He_ was the one who lured you out into the forest. _He_ was the one who told them where you were, and the only regret he had at being late to ‘save’ you was that he might lose the chance to talk to me. By the way, how old do you think he is?”

“Uhhh…” A sinking feeling developed in the pit of her stomach. “Like, eighteen?” That was legal for humans and near-humans in the Republic, anyway. Maybe not in the Empire? She wasn’t sure, maybe it was nineteen there. It was really hard to tell his age, though, he was young but sometimes he acted a lot older, and Aristheron relied on him and Aristheron was in his mid-20s or something so… She had never asked, only assumed.

Andru scoffed. “He’s sixteen. He really is a child.”

“Crap,” she muttered to herself. She was twenty, herself, even if she acted younger. “Well, I didn’t know, so I’m not a pedophile! Or an ebopha- epheb- whatever the other word is. Wait, is that one of the reasons you didn’t want me getting near him??”

“Hardly. I _had_ wanted you to leave him for your own sake – so that I would not be forced to destroy my own descendent. And yet, here we are.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll just, I don’t know, not destroy me anyway?” she sassed him. “It’s an option!”

“Oh, no, my dear girl. You will pay the price for your foolishness, as you should have done when you first brought him to me.”

“Fine!” She swung at him, and he disappeared. If only she knew how to project her will like other Force users, to make them stay still long enough for her to hit them!

They surrounded her on all sides, almost speaking over each other. “He wants to destroy all Sith, just like Giri. His friends he’ll save… for last.” “He murdered his last surviving fellow ex-slave to silence him. Poor thing was as helpless as a hobbled nerf.” “He’ll destroy both the Empire and the Republic and install anarchy in their place.” “He killed your masters with no remorse; he felt only joy because it meant he was getting stronger.” “He killed the woman who forced him to become Sith, and he wants to kill the woman who was the closest to a mother he ever had.”

The accusations came at her unrelentingly, and she wanted to cover her ears. “Shut up! I don’t care! It doesn’t matter!”

“It doesn’t matter that he really is the monster he says he is, and that saving him really will bring ruin on the galaxy?” Ergast leaned in, smiling. “Do you really believe that? You should believe people when they tell you they’re wicked. You and your savior complex are going to get in trouble.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ashara repeated firmly. “You can say all the horrible things you want, but I believe in him! Because lies and pain are not all he is! So get lost!” She jumped forward to attack again; she would strike them down, even if they were ghosts. If she believed with all her heart, she could do it. “Murlesson! Wake up!”

“He cannot hear you,” said Andru from right behind her, and she spun, but no matter how fast she pivoted, how quickly she attacked, the four of them avoided her. “Have you even asked him if he wants to live?”

“No, but… Everyone wants to live! Everyone should be able to live!”

“He hangs there because he has no hope,” Horak-Mul whispered. “He used to fight tooth and nail for his life and freedom, but imprisoning and torturing the body is far inferior to imprisoning the mind. We _took_ his hope and snuffed out his fire, choked his revenge and spite. Even if you could somehow defeat us, he would never recover. He would still want to die. And sooner or later, he would succeed.”

 _That_ hurt, even if she couldn’t believe it. She ran after Kalatosh instead. Her ancestor smirked at her. “Truly, this is all that’s left of his soul. Soon even that will fade away, and we will join with Sel-Makor and achieve dominion over this planet.”

“That’s a stupid idea!” she said, slashing at the air where he had been a moment ago. “Murlesson, wake up and help me! You’re not just going to let these jerks win, right?”

She was flailing without coordination, playing whack-a-Jawa with smoke. Her heart ached for his hurt and loneliness, with anger and fear, her confidence gone and her determination fraying. All she knew for certain was that she had to be near Murlesson until he woke up.

And then they stopped holding back. “As amusing as this has been, we have things to do now,” Ergast said. “Goodbye, young Ashara.”

They began to mob her from all sides, and though they were ghosts, she could feel icy coldness from their touch as they reached out to grab her. She swung her sabers desperately, but it didn’t seem to be hurting them much even when it passed through them – she struck Andru, and he gasped and grimaced in pain, and kept reaching out to her. Darkness wrapped around her, swamping her, slowing her.

She only had one hope now. “Murlesson! Please, wake up! I can’t do this alone! I know I’m useless and I can’t even save you by myself, but you’re amazing and strong and clever – you can stop them, I know it!” She struggled uselessly, but she could no longer swing her sabers.

“Save your breath,” Kalatosh snapped. “He belongs to us. No one can help you now.”

She ignored him, even though their power was sticking her in place, making all her limbs like icy lead. “I know you want to die, I know you’re tired and hurt and you think you can never be happy. I know hope is the most painful thing in the universe and sometimes it seems that everything is out to get you and that life seems pointless and it all hurts. That no matter what you do, it’s never enough. I don’t know it like you do, but I know it.” She sank to her knees, floundering under the weight of the Darkness. “But I love you, I love you with all my heart – I believe in you! I know you love me, so please – help me-! _Murlesson-!!_ ” Her last words came out as a desperate shriek as everything faded, sight, sound, touch, and she found herself unable to make sound. The world was a cold, numb void; she was lost, alone, forever. She felt her heart stop-

Until she felt a powerful blast of energy around her, tearing her free, and she could see again, she could hear and feel, she could breathe. Her heart _hurt_ , but it was still beating. The ghosts were pulling back in shock and fear, and Murlesson was standing over her, red-yellow eyes blazing – actually glowing, behind his curtain of hair, his face creased in a vengeful snarl, terrifying fangs on full display. “ _I belong… to no one… but me!_ ”

She wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or overjoyed, seeing him like that. Darkness was radiating from him, incredible, overwhelming waves of power, of hatred and fury – but it wasn’t pure Darkness; her inner sight caught a violet sheen through it all, especially where it curled protectively around her. Oh, but she’d unleashed a demon, and she was going to keep her head down for a bit. At least he was awake! The ghosts were murmuring between themselves. “He should have been too weak to break free, to wake up.” “He is still too weak to fight us…”

“You still haven’t come to terms with the consequences of your actions, have you?” Ergast said, recovering slightly, drawing himself to his full height. “So be it. You will die… now.”

Without answer, Murlesson darted towards Horak-Mul, then Andru, faster than she could follow. People _didn’t_ move that fast! Not even with the Force…! But she was slowly figuring out… they weren’t in the physical world right now, were they?

Horak-Mul stumbled back, clutching his throat, and Andru slammed into the floor; Murlesson was on to Kalatosh and Ergast, sending the one curling over his groin – even Ashara winced – and the other spinning away, clutching his face. From one to another to a third, he whirled between them, too fast to see, the only sound he made raspy breathing. Dark light tinged with violet was streaming from within him with his building fury; it carried him, elevated him to floating in their midst, and a violent screaming howl ripped from him in a storm of lightning. Ashara gasped and ducked, covering her head and her vulnerable montrals as best she could. But that awfully magnificent figure was burned into her mind, levitating, arms taut and outstretched, the tendons in his throat jutting out, lightning radiating from him like some strange parody of a holy icon.

Kalatosh and Horak-Mul evaporated under the onslaught nearly instantly. Andru fell back to the floor, avoiding the worst of it, but still riddled with holes, bleeding around the edges into the Force; only Ergast had the presence to withstand that violent barrage.

“You snake!” Andru gasped, half-sitting up, wriggling away from Murlesson frantically. “May your name vanish from all record! May your children die in their youth-”

Murlesson slammed a fist straight through the ghost’s face, and Andru’s form poofed into the ether; he rounded on Ergast, who stared at him with a stony expression.

There were no words; he just lifted his hands and made a violent gesture, and Ergast was ripped apart by the invisible strength of the Force. She stared at Murlesson, and he slipped and fell sideways.

Complete and utter darkness fell, and the next thing she knew, she was blinking open her eyes, lying on a cold and rather moist stone floor. It was pitch black – her lightsabers!

They were still in her hands, and she ignited one, holding it up like a torch as she sat up. Her body had passed out, at some point, in her long walk, without her spirit noticing. And now – Murlesson’s body lay beside her, matte darkness in his robes in the shiny darkness of the tunnel, only distinguishable by the tiniest flicker of his presence.

She shook him by the shoulder. “Murlesson! Murlesson! Are you-”

His eyes cracked open, pale flickers in the black eye sockets of his tattoos, and he rolled his face up towards her, squinting in the light of her saber. She couldn’t tell if his face was damp with sweat, condensation, or tears. Maybe all of the above. His mouth slowly curved into a little smile in the light of her saber. “You’re safe now… From them, anyway.” His voice was low and still raspy, almost a whisper, and his eyes still looked unfocused. He didn’t have fangs at the moment, at least, and his eyes weren’t glowing anymore.

“What about you?” she demanded. “Will they come back?”

He thought about that for a few moments, and she felt his power fluctuating gently around them, so weak, terribly weak compared to what it had been before. “I don’t think so. That’s nice… I can actually… die in peace.” He closed his eyes.

Her heart clenched and she grabbed his hand, wincing as she discovered he’d lost his gloves… and his fingertips were completely worn away, leaving his hands black and sticky with blood and dirt. “No! I didn’t come all this way so you could frakking die on me, mister!”

He didn’t open his eyes, and he made a face. His words were slurring. “I know, but I’m… so tired…”

“I’ll carry you! The others are all waiting for us.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re _not_ staying here to get eaten by Sel-Makor or whatever. Come on. Up you get. I meant what I said. Living is hard and hope hurts. I don’t really have an answer to that yet. But we gotta do it anyway.”

“You said it was love… didn’t you?” That tiny smile again. “You can’t love me that much… It would be better for you if you let me die. There isn’t a place for me in this galaxy.”

“No!” she said. “I _do_ love you that much. I came all the way in here, didn’t I? So… please live? For me?”

She could see the thoughts ticking around inside his head, then the little smile grew larger – and more wry. “I guess… I could make an effort, since _they’re_ gone now.”

“Yeah! Come on. I’ll help you.” She got to her feet, then grabbed his arm with one arm; she needed the other to hold the lightsaber. She leaned back to try to pull him up, and he actually put his feet and back into it, teetering to his full lanky height and nearly flopping back over again.

She caught him, slinging an arm over her shoulders. Good thing she was almost as tall as him. “Oof! I gotcha. Okay. We just gotta keep walking. Don’t worry, I’ll get you home.” Internally, she was worried she couldn’t find the path, but she could follow the footsteps she followed on the way in, right? Geez, he was stinky – the ghosts probably didn’t wash him since he jumped off the tower, so he stank of old sweat and vomit and blood. She still nuzzled against his jaw, just happy to be next to him.

“You _are_ my home,” he mumbled, still sounding pretty out of it.

She had to giggle a little. “That’s flattering! But I meant, like, the Viper or Nar Shaddaa or wherever you like.”

He gave a little gasp, looking behind them, even though there wasn’t anything there… physically, at least. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” she asked, and then gave a bigger gasp. “Wookiee feet! We’d better hurry!”

“I’ll do my best,” he said grimly, clutching at her and staggering forward with her firmer stride to guide him. There was a rumble in the distance, a rising tide of possessive rage, from a power magnitudes stronger than she could even comprehend. It was coming for them and she _really_ didn’t want to know what would happen if it got them.

Going was excruciatingly slow; she had no concept of how long it had taken her to walk into the cave and absolutely no notion of when her spirit had left her body. She tried not to be anxious, for Murlesson’s sake. He didn’t need her nagging or pushing, he already knew it was urgent. Maybe more than she did.

The more they walked, the more certain his steps became, though he seemed really out of breath. She had the sense that he was exhausted, that he was pushing way past his limits, but he was going to make it – until he tripped and fell on his face, dragging her down to the floor. She dropped the lightsaber before it hit anything in her flailing, choosing to grab him instead and keep him from hurting himself.

“Leave me,” he gasped in her arms. “Go on. I’m just slowing you down.”

“I won’t,” she said with exasperation.

He gripped her arms with surprising strength, pleading with his eyes. “I don’t care, if you live. All I want is for you to live and be happy. Just… don’t… forget me. You’re the one who gave me any worth. Go and-”

She huffed and poked him in the forehead. “Beside every great man is a woman telling him to get over himself, you know. So get over yourself and let’s go!”

He looked shocked, his eyes actually focusing for a few seconds, and he didn’t resist as she pulled his arm over her shoulder again, staggering to her feet and dragging him a few more steps, calling her lightsaber back to her hand so they could try to not trip over anything else. And then the tidal wave hit them.

 _IS MINE_ , it bellowed into their heads, the feeling of it alien and yet the message clear as crystal. _NO ESCAPE. SEL-MAKOR SPEAKS. MINE_.

Darkness lashed at them, the ground shook below them, and there were ominous grinding noises from the stones around them. Ashara gasped, trying to shield them both from the clawing Darkness, from the hail of gravel that pelted them. Murlesson seemed to have dropped back out of it, and she shook him a little. “I can’t do this alone! You’re the mentally strong one here, help me!”

He raised his hand and his own shield rose around them, black and violet to her mind’s eye, protecting them from the wrath of Sel-Makor, and diverting the pebbles from overhead. He stumbled, his arm wavering, but she put her hand out too, the one with her lightsaber in it, and her energy joined with his, twining blue and gold around his energy. And now she had hope again, the two of them stronger together than they could ever hope to be alone, and though he sagged against her shoulder she kept going. The tunnel was collapsing somewhere behind them, catching up to them, and she kept going.

Step after step she took, as the tunnel shook and the Darkness roared. She felt almost like it was pulling them back, like gravity had shifted behind them, and she gritted her teeth, their protective energy shining around her, giving her the strength to pull through.

They came into a larger corridor just as a huge stone from the ceiling crashed into the passage behind them, almost catching the hem of Murlesson’s tattered robe, and now the tunnels shook and the Darkness roared but the rain of stones was growing less. Sel-Makor could no longer strike out at them physically, it seemed – but she didn’t let her guard down. It wanted them with a terrible hunger still, and Murlesson was weakening quickly. “Come on… just a little further.” She couldn’t remember how much further, and she was still scared, but step by step they staggered on.

There were Force beast manifestations, two in front and one behind, and she slashed at them, warding them off. Geez, not now! “Get out of my way!” She was still scared of them, but now she had Murlesson to protect right beside her, honing her determination to a laser beam. Of course, she was going to have a hard time fighting while carrying him, but that was a little detail. She tightened her grip and dragged him forward.

They attacked at the same time, and one of them she stabbed in the face, melting it away – and then she felt a thrashing weight thump into them as the one behind jumped on Murlesson’s back, biting at his neck. Murlesson grunted, losing his balance, almost propelling all of them into the wall, then giving a sharp cry. Lightning lit up the corridor and the beast was gone. The one in front of them hesitated, prancing back and forth in front of them, and then more appeared out of the darkness to join it.

Ashara’s grin was manic, sweat pouring down her face even though it was freezing down here. “Yeah, come and get it! I’m going through you, and I’m taking him with me whether you move or not!”

They charged. Murlesson slipped to one knee, and Ashara dropped him for a moment, drawing her second lightsaber. One, two, three, four slashes, and her enemies melted with gasping howls.

“Come on,” she said to Murlesson, stooping to pick him up again. “You all right?”

He didn’t answer, but he was still breathing, and he still put one foot shakily in front of the other. They rounded a corner and there was light ahead, real light, and she sheathed her lightsaber to hold up Murlesson with both arms. “Come on! There’s the exit!” She dragged his stumbling steps up the ramp to the daylight under the trees as Sel-Makor screamed in frustrated fury behind them.

He looked completely spent as they rested in a corner of the big tree’s roots, head down, eyes closed. She was breathing hard; he was barely breathing. His skin was still sallow and gaunt. “How far…?” he whispered.

She winced again. “Um… I’m not sure. I ran this whole way, and I kinda jumped over some cliffs instead of finding a real path, and there were these giant hostile creatures…”

“Frak, being alive is too much work,” he muttered, and she coughed to keep from laughing too loudly. She didn’t want to call monsters to their position.

Maybe he’d do better with some food and water. She wondered if the ghosts had fed him while they controlled him. Probably not, and that made her blood boil a bit. “Here. I have energy bars and water.”

He couldn’t open the food bars with his mutilated fingers, so she did it for him and he munched disinterestedly for a bit, dropping the wrappers on the ground when he was done.

She frowned at him. “Are you littering?”

He swung his head back to confront her indignant stance. “It’s the lair of an evil spirit born of the sundering of two tribes and you’re worried about _litter?_ ”

“Wait, what?”

“Never mind,” he whispered, head falling forward again.

“We can’t stay here,” she said, pacing a bit – yes, she was tired, but nerves were making her restless. Sel-Makor still seethed in its cave, and considering it had stopped Aristheron so far back, she wouldn’t put it past it to try to get them even from here. “Are you a little better?”

“No,” he said, but started trying to struggle to his feet anyway. She helped him.

They’d only made it out of the ravine when she heard a shout from ahead. “Ashara! Murlesson!”

“Aristheron!” She lit up. “They’ve come for us, Murlesson! They managed to make it!”

“Huh?” He didn’t know how the others had been held back. She started trying to explain, but before she could figure out how, the others were there, Aristheron, Khem, Xalek, and Sabran; Khem reached down and hoisted Murlesson onto his broad back, and they began to march back to the outpost together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have loved to include some of Murbek Gehn, the crazy old Sith on the edge of the Forbidden Lands, because he’s hilarious, but there just wasn’t a place for him. Especially since Murlesson the Sassmaster wasn’t in the party.  
> “It takes hours of meditation every day for me to keep my mind intact!”  
> “Clearly those hours could be put to better use.”


	30. To Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a bit of a palate cleanser, except for the action scene, which is not a palate cleanser at all and probably needs violence warnings on it. The song lyrics he quotes halfway through are from a song I’d like to write someday, if I can actually figure out how to form a metal band and write metal songs.
> 
> The music for the action scene is this headbanger of a tune from [Corpse Party: Chapter 5 Ending](https://youtu.be/V2DdzFkRZqc)! One of those songs that makes me wish I could play drums!
> 
> And more importantly, I can stop using italics to represent ghosts in Murlesson’s POV now, thank goodness, that was getting tiring.

Part 30: To Sleep

Murlesson was completely out of it by the time they reached Ghen’s Outpost, and Andronikos, Talos, and Vany very quickly bundled him into their make-shift medical tent. He needed more medical care than was available out here in the wilderness, though, and as soon as they had looked him over and made sure he wasn’t going to croak in the next hour or so, they were back on the shuttle and headed to Voss City. There was a proper modern hospital there, one that could deal with weird things like “missing fingertips”. When Ashara was allowed into his room there, her first thought was that he looked _really_ weird in white. He only ever wore black, edgy Sith boy that he was… and without it, he really didn’t look like himself. Though it was nice to see him all cleaned up and not stinky anymore.

Which made her wonder, not for the first time, how he would look and act if he ever decided to try being a Jedi. He would probably still be a sarcastic, blunt jerk, but he wouldn’t be the first Jedi to act that way and still be fine as a Jedi. And the Jedi had lots of history, too, so he could still study his passion on the other side, if he wanted to. Or just bring his formidable knowledge of the Sith over and share it, there were still so many Jedi who didn’t know what the Sith thought… and it could prevent others from ending up like Giri did.

She sat beside his bed, her hand on his shoulder to channel the healing power of the Force into him. He needed it, even after everything medical science had done for him; kolto and surgery and medications could heal a body only so far and so quickly, and it did absolutely nothing for the spirit. So she let her power seep into him, seeking out the worst damage and coaxing it back to wholeness, as well as she could. He was so deeply scarred, even her best efforts wouldn’t amount to much. But even a little was better than nothing.

She watched him, feeling strangely at peace now that she had him back, now that his Force sense was no longer that murky miasma of hateful Darkness – at least not completely, his soul was still dark and bitter like old caf, but that violet tinge that she’d never seen before lingered. And if she searched… there was his core, vulnerable while he slept, that little spark of hopeful light that had never quite been extinguished even through everything he’d been through. Maybe now he could begin to nurture it.

She hummed a little to herself from time to time, still watching him. It was really nice. She hadn’t had the chance to be close to him like this… well, ever. She never got the chance to just watch him sleep. Even Sabran’s presence, as it sat on his other side also healing, couldn’t bother her right now. Sabran was the kindest, least obtrusive person she’d ever met.

There was one time that he stirred, inhaling deeply and turning towards her, eyes barely open. “A… Ashara?”

He sounded groggy, and she smiled as she leaned over him, even though he wasn’t supposed to be awake yet. “I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

“W-what happened?”

“We’re safe in Voss-ka, don’t worry.”

“What’s… Voss-ka? Weren’t we… Salvara?”

She froze for a moment. He didn’t remember _anything_. …That was probably for the best, really. “I’ll tell you when you’ve rested more. Go back to sleep.”

“Hn. Don’t wanna.” But his eyes were closing again, his breath drifting away again.

So she hummed a little stronger, a slow pretty song she’d heard recently. She looked down after a minute to see tears streaming down his face from his closed eyes – just tears, thank goodness, no blood.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, reaching for her hand with his own bandaged hands and holding it to his chest, rolling over to curl around it. “Don’t stop.”

Surely her thin little voice wasn’t affecting him so much he’d cry like he’d just had an emotional epiphany. But he kept crying, and crying, softly without sobbing, tears just running unstoppably from his eyes. “Mm, mm,” she said soothingly. “It’s all right to let it out. Let it all out.”

Because that was what this was, wasn’t it? Relieved of an incredible pressure, of a colossal struggle every minute to maintain control, his repressed feelings repressed even further in order to survive as long as possible – it was only natural that his body and soul should react this way. She reached over, still humming, and stroked his hair, smoothing it around his horns, sending as much of her energy to hold him as she could.

He slept, and he cried, and she sat beside him, even when Sabran left to go rest. She felt his mind wandering, dimly, and wondered if he knew yet how much he didn’t remember. Actually, she planned on telling him as little as possible, only the part where he fought all the ghosts. _Maybe_ the part where she tried to fight the ghosts and failed so she had to beg him for help, but not all the terrible things they’d said just to try and get him in trouble. She was pretty sure half those things weren’t true anyway. _Maybe_ he was only sixteen, but killing all the Sith and installing anarchy in their place? That didn’t make sense, even if the people who hurt him often happened to be Sith, and if there was one thing she knew about Murlesson, it was that he was logical to a fault. Anarchy wasn’t logical.

He slept even as Aristheron got clearance to have him transferred back to the Viper. Darth Severin wanted to interrogate him, but Aristheron managed to keep the nosy diplomat away, and Ashara was glad. Murlesson was in no state to bandy words with anyone.

Aristheron himself was off to the Kollyrion; he had to get back to business with taking over Salvara and… stuff. She was grateful, and thanked him on behalf of Murlesson, and herself, and the rest of the crew, profusely, but he put out his hand to stop her. “It was my pleasure to do this. It was an uncertain journey, and I am glad it came to a successful conclusion against such great odds.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You won’t tell Pyron yet, right?”

“No. I understand your reasons. I will take charge of Admiral Pyron until further notice.”

She nodded. “I hope your take-over of Salvara goes smoothly; I didn’t use to think Sith could be good governors, but having met you, I’d vote you for Emperor – if votes were a thing here.”

He chuckled softly. “I accept the compliment. Safe travels – and don’t go jumping off cliffs into vortigaunt nests. It’s needlessly reckless.”

She giggled. “I make no promises on that one, but thanks! You too,” she said, then turned to Sabran. “You’re going back with him?”

“Yeah,” it said. “I’ve done my part here, small though it was. I have… more to do, now that I’m recovering. Jan’s mission may be done, but I want to stay anyway, for a while. After reporting back to the Jedi Council, of course.”

“You can just do that?” she asked, making a skeptical face. “Just… go undercover, even though there’s no reason to do that like Janelle had?”

Sabran smiled serenely. “I’ve never believed in ‘sides’, just people. I know there would be a lot of people in the Republic, even among the Jedi, quick to cry “traitor!”, but… we’re not at war-”

“Yet,” Ashara put in; anyone could see war was coming back, and pretty soon, too. It was going to be sticky for her, wasn’t it? Since she didn’t want to go back without Murlesson, and she didn’t know what he would do. And she didn’t want to fight _for_ the Empire. But she’d navigate that asteroid field when she came to it.

“-yet, yes, but… who knows? My master is dead and I must find a new purpose. And Aristheron hasn’t said he minds, yet. It seems I’m less aggravating when we’re not pushed into conflict against each other. So I will go where the Force blows and see what awaits me there, until my choices are narrowed down for me. …And I gotta get my hair fixed.”

“Sounds good,” Ashara said, laughing. “May the Force be with you!”

“May the Force be with you,” Sabran replied to her with a smiling bow.

“I hope Murlesson gets better soon!” Vany said, giving her a quick hug. “Take care!”

“Thanks! You too.”

Then the three of them went off into the Kollyrion while Ashara headed back to the others on the Viper.

The Viper was neat and tidy as always; Tuvee had managed to stay out of the way while Murlesson was possessed and had gone about taking care of the ship as usual while he was off in the Forbidden Lands, so Ashara almost couldn’t see any difference when she came on board. But there were fresh dents in the walls of the corridor up to the cockpit that Tuvee hadn’t been able to buff out yet, and she was pretty sensitive to the aura of the ship, having lived there for so long – she could tell where pain lingered that hadn’t been there before.

Fortunately, there wasn’t much angsty residue in his cabin, more than usual, anyway, as it seemed to be mostly concentrated in the cockpit. She managed to get him in his freshly-laundered nest with a sigh of relief. She was about to go check on her stuff in the crew quarters when she felt him catch her sleeve.

“Stay?” he mumbled sleepily.

She hesitated. It wasn’t right, he was only sixteen – but he wasn’t going to hit on her right now, right? It would probably be a big comfort to have someone nearby. “I’ll be right back. I gotta hit the refresher and get my stuff.” She’d been without a change of clothes for a few days, and it was nice to have access to her comfy clothes again.

And she couldn’t deny… it was nice to be in that bed again, it was way more comfortable than the crew quarters bunks. He was already looking better, his sleeping face peaceful across from her. This was what she’d fought so hard for.

He woke in a strange place again, not his cabin and not the place he’d half-woken up and heard Ashara’s voice say something about Voss, but this place was dimmer, cozier, and without the window streaming sunlight in. No windows at all, actually, and a vaguely comforting ‘canned’ smell to the air. He was in his pyjamas in a soft, comfortable bed.

His head was empty. The only thoughts in it were his own. His migraine was gone. _His migraine was gone_. He almost cried again, but he had the vague knowledge of doing a lot of that recently so he tried not to.

But his migraine. Was gone.

His body still ached all over, but it was a fading ache, barely anything to speak of after what he’d been bearing with for so long. He pulled a hand out from under the blanket and examined it. His unbandaged hands were still stained black, but… not as strongly, as if it was retreating, and his skin was no longer crumblingly dry. His fingertips had been replaced by synthetic caps, the join not entirely smooth, but invisible from a distance. They had a feel like latex, when he rubbed them together. There was no pain, only a dull ache, and since there were no synthetic nerves there was an odd numb feeling, from expecting full sensation and getting only pressure. But he was lucky to have his life, let alone his fingers, still. Surely the risks of saving him had been immense, and yet his friends came for him anyway.

Foolish, and sentimental – but he was grateful.

Ashara came in to the unfamiliar room just as he was stretching his senses further into this unfamiliar environment, noticing her approach and detecting others somewhere beyond; none of them were on alert so he supposed they must have been safe. “Hey! How are you doing?”

“I’m awake,” he said, and stretched and yawned mightily. “Which is certainly an unexpected state of affairs. Where are we?”

She grinned hugely, her eyes dancing. “We’re in your _secret laaaiiiiir_.”

“My what.”

“Don’t you remember?” She looked at him curiously. “You had me design a secret sanctum thingy under your cult on Nar Shaddaa.”

“Oh.” He vaguely remembered, but he hadn’t remembered what it looked like. The room was a soft medium green colour, and Ashara turned up the lights a bit so he could see it better. There were shelves all around, empty except for a few scattered holocrons that he recognized as being on his ship recently, and a personal work station set up to double as an entertainment station that could be viewed comfortably from the bed. Which wasn’t a normal bed, but a raised bed, similar to a nest the way he liked it, but properly made instead of just a mattress in a corner with pillows and blankets. The lights were warm and it felt very un Sith-like. “I guess it’s all right. I can tell _you_ designed it, though.”

She snorted. “Ya, wait until you see the _throne roooooom_. I think it’ll fit your Sithy aesthetic. You did sign off on it, after all. This is just the apartment part that no one’s supposed to see except you and your very closest friends, like me. I thought you might want something that wasn’t gloomy _all_ the time. Caf?”

“Gods, yes.”

She skipped away and returned in a minute with a mug of beautiful, blessed black elixir. He managed to get to a sitting position under his own power, and she sat on the other end of the bed while he sipped it. First taste and he closed his eyes and moaned at how much he’d missed just being able to enjoy the taste of things for their own sake, instead of pumping it in to keep himself going through difficulties.

“So… what happened?” he asked, when he was about half-way through.

“Hmm… What do you last remember?” she asked.

He flinched. “Agony. Darkness. Helplessness. Despair. Giri was dead, though. I know we got him.”

“Yup! But then – yeah, the ghosts took over. And then they jumped you from the tower…”

He listened as she rambled on about Voss, and Sel-Makor, and how amazing he’d been when he broke out of his mental coma, and how the others met them outside the ruins and carried him the rest of the way. He couldn’t remember any of it. Maybe… hazy images, from when he’d been wandering outside of his body. Aliens native to Voss, wailing in their native language, lamenting an ancient war… But he didn’t remember killing the ghosts. It disappointed him, and he glared into his caf. He’d wanted to enjoy killing them, tearing them apart with his mind…

“…Murlesson?” she asked.

He looked up, trying to reassure her. “It’s nothing. I just… wish I could remember.”

Her expression turned anxious. “I think it’s better that you don’t. You were in immense pain still, way past your limit, past anyone’s limit, and yet you kept going, because we didn’t have a choice. And you’ve been sleeping since, recovering, for like four days.”

There was a flicker in her sense. Was that the only reason she didn’t want him to remember?

He left that alone for now. “Well… I’m grateful you came for me.” He bowed his head. “It sounds like far too much trouble for one person.” _He_ wouldn’t have come for himself. For her, though… Well… of course. But he wasn’t her.

“Well… you’re important to me. To all of us.” She shrugged, awkwardly. “We couldn’t just leave you. It was… too horrible to think of.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He set down his empty mug on the sidetable and curled up against the back of the bed, staring at his hands in his lap.

“Is there anything you need?” Ashara asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I’m… fine.” He felt her starting to object and interrupted. “I don’t need anything.”

“Okay.”

She was confused – and he was confused, too. He should have felt amazing. His head was his own, his body his own, his friends were far too good for him, especially Aristheron, who had even less reason than the others, yet he still felt… tired and worthless. No, that wasn’t quite it, but he didn’t know how to describe it, only that he was just as sullen and cranky as he had been before.

Clearly something was wrong with him. Probably a great many things were wrong with him. And to realize that more hadn’t been fixed just by destroying the voices in his head… He would have been angry if it didn’t seem clear that it was utterly pointless. Everything was pointless.

“One thing’s different,” Ashara said in a tiny, nervous voice.

He looked up slowly. “What’s that?”

“Your aura… It’s not just Darkness, Darkness, and more Darkness.”

“You mean the…” The spark she had showed him before, that he still didn’t dare to speak of?

“No, not that.” She looked at him curiously. “You can’t feel it yourself? Your aura has this violet tinge to it now.”

“What?”

She looked even more confused. “Yeah?”

“No, I can’t feel it. You… see the Force in colours?”

“Yeah? I… thought that was normal?”

He had to chuckle a little. “Normal for you, perhaps. How many people have you consulted with?”

She deflated a little. “No one. Does no one else see it that way?”

“I don’t know. But now you know I don’t. Why violet?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your soul is violet. Mine’s blue and gold, though it’s not like I can just… activate it whenever I want. When I feel it, I know that I’m in the zone, though.”

“I don’t understand anything you just said,” he said. “Your soul… It’s light. And warm. But colours…” He shook his head. “No. I don’t see any of that.”

“Aww. That’s too bad.”

He snorted. “ _How do you see in colour when morality is grey_?” It was a line from a song he listened to more times than was probably healthy. “ _No right or wrong, just broken hearts and minds_ …”

“Hm. I guess they have a point.” Ashara thought about that for a while. “I used to have a more black-and-white morality. As you know.”

“You still have a very strong morality,” he pointed out. “Don’t you, Jedi?”

“I hope so! But I’ve also tried to follow your example more, and to ask why people do things before judging them for it.”

“Well… good luck with that.” He flopped back, trying to figure out why his soul would be _purple_ of all things. “The galaxy is broken. Morality is broken. I’m broken.”

“And fixing all those things is going to be hard, but I’m game to try,” she said gently.

“What’s the point, though?” he asked the ceiling. “Why me?”

“Because I love you, dummy,” she said.

He glared vaguely. “There’s no point to that. What is life, anyway, just an endless chase of dopamine and finding only disappointment.”

“Sure, there’s a lot of that, but… we have to keep trying anyway, don’t we?”

“Do we have to?” He rolled over and hid his head under a pillow. “You can if you want.”

“And what are you going to do?” she asked, trying not to sound indignant and failing.

“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” He didn’t know. He was cured of his condition but he was still broken, and angry, and worthless. “There’s no light at the end of the tunnel for me.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have lightsabers,” she said, backing down suddenly, making her voice and Force-sense gentle and patient – even a little teasing. “Hey. Give me your hand.”

“What for.”

“Just give it.” She held out her hand patiently.

He sighed and crawled out from under his pillow, putting his palm on hers. “You’re not going to show me the Light that hides deep inside me, are you? I know it’s there. I don’t need to see it again.”

“I think it’s important for you to see it again,” she said. “I know it hurts, and it’s scary. But I trust you, so you can trust me, right?”

He looked away. “Fine.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Their Force-bond shone between them, bright and stronger than ever before. He followed it, followed her, through the shadows, straight to the Light that hid in his centre. It was easier to find than it had been last time, and now it lay bare, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable before her. He struggled with the urge to pull away and hide, just like last time, but she was holding him so gently, so lovingly, that he couldn’t commit to it.

He found tears running from his eyes again. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“I can’t make a judgement on fairness,” she said. “But I love you, and that’s why I came to get you even though I knew I’d probably die, and you love me, and that’s why you saved me even when you couldn’t save yourself. _This_ is why you should try to live, Murlesson. Maybe you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel… but the Light is in you and between us – and that’s not a bad thing.”

“Jedi-speak,” he mumbled, trying and failing to be gruff.

She hugged him. “I know you’re overwhelmed right now. Just take it slow. You don’t have to decide anything yet. We haven’t told anyone you’re alive yet.”

He leaned his head on her shoulder, feeling tired again. “Aristheron knows, my crew knows… If we’re in my sanctum, surely Rylee and Destris know.”

“Yes, and also Vany and Sabran. They came to help too. But no one officially knows.”

“What are you suggesting?” She sounded like she had some plan in mind already.

“Well… you could… You could always leave.”

“Leave what? The Empire?”

She pulled back, fidgeting. “Forget all the Sith and the Jedi. Just… head out into the galaxy. Disappear. Thanaton doesn’t know you’re still alive again. This is like the third time, isn’t it? But we can make this one permanent. We can erase the records of your rescue on Voss-ka. He’d never find us.”

“Us?”

“Well, I’d come too, silly. I’m not leaving you that easily.”

He thought about it. She was pointedly _not_ asking him to join the Jedi, though he could tell she wanted to.

“What’s keeping you here?” she asked.

His cult, for one – but he could hand that off to Aristheron as if he’d actually died. If he could give up his revenge against Thanaton and the Empire… “Well, I suppose the main reason I’ve stuck with the Empire is because they’ve been paying me.” She giggled. “No, I’m serious. I have a fleet, so they pay me to take care of it and use it properly. And some funding for the research that I do – not that I’ve done much recently.”

“So you could be a mercenary Sith lord?” she asked, still amused.

“I’ve never heard of one before, but… I suppose it’s possible, if you don’t make an enemy of someone like Darth Hyper-Control like I did… Still, every Sith will eventually fall prey to the same lust for power. And the Empire is the only place where the path of victory-through-power has been properly legalized and codified.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” she mumbled.

“Think about it. Would the Republic want me, even if I’ve never really fought against them directly? Would they give a fleet to someone they just met? And when they didn’t, would they allow me to keep one that I stole?”

“Well, no, because that really sounds ridiculous, and the Empire is silly for allowing it.”

“The Empire is silly, but I know how to use it,” he snapped back.

“You do,” she said. “But you know other things too. Like, say, how to navigate the underworld. You don’t have to just go to the Republic. Pick a third option, y’know? Sure, you can probably get therapy much more easily in the Republic, but you’d also get notoriety way too easily even without looking for it. I mean if you want to go there, I’d be thrilled to go with you, but I actually think that you don’t need either of them right now. And – even if you had to give up all your power with the Empire, you’d gain a lot of freedom. We could go looking for tombs. You don’t even need to do it for the money, you still have tons. Maybe everyone else would come along just for the fun of it. You wouldn’t be alone.”

That was tempting, achingly tempting.

She got up. “I’ll let you think about it. I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother,” he said, and reached out to catch her arm. “Wait. Please.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll stay with me, right?” That was the most important thing. If he lived, it was going to be because of her.

She hesitated. “Yes, but…”

“What?” he demanded, suspicious. Something was up, she’d been treating him differently since he woke up and it couldn’t just be explained by what she’d told him.

“Well… the ghosts said something, before you killed them.” She fidgeted again, twisting her fingers together. “They, um, said you were only sixteen.”

“Am I? I don’t even know. How do you know they were right?”

“Well… I don’t.” She was uncomfortable in the face of his anger, and he… shouldn’t have taken it out on her.

“What else did they say?” He might as well know it all, so he knew what to be paranoid about.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “A lot of it was nonsense, and they were clearly just trying to get you in trouble, to make me give up.”

“Like what? Tell me. I need to know.” She could at least give him the chance to defend himself.

“Well… One of them said you tricked me into joining you. That you hired the very assassins that you saved me from.”

His hearts froze in his chest. They’d probably told her _everything_. Every black secret he’d never wanted shared with another soul, and now _Ashara_ of all people knew it all. This was a nightmare he hadn’t imagined he’d have to deal with even if he did survive.

She read his silence and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, they _were_ telling the truth on that one?” He could tell she was thinking over whatever else they’d said, re-evaluating it-

“That one,” he gritted out. “But- but I’ve changed since then!” Force, please- “I really have. I’m sorry I did it. I… You wouldn’t have spoken to me back then if I’d just asked. I wanted to make myself look like a… a hero. Kind of. I could have found another way, I know that now. But now… now we both know better, right?”

Her eyes softened, and he felt the tension relax between them. “Yeah. I was pretty stubborn, and I didn’t know you. I still wouldn’t trust any _other_ Sith lord, except Aristheron, but… You know what? Like I told them, I don’t care. I don’t care what you did in the past. I still believe in you, and I love you, and we can make a better future together.”

She was so beautiful and earnest, and her feelings were overwhelming him. She’d been changed by rescuing him, he could see it in her eyes, changed as much as he had been. And she was forgiving him, and that was a weight lifted from him as suddenly as it had been thrust onto him. “Yeah.”

“But I’m not sleeping with you until you’re eighteen. _That’s_ what I was going to say. I’ll stay with you, in your bed, even, but I’m not going to have sex with you for a little while.”

He gave her a sarcastic look. “So you’ll accept me fighting for my life, working two full-time jobs, murdering people whenever necessary, but not having sex? After we already did it?” The irony was _killing_ him. This was as ridiculous as not being allowed to drink on Dromund Kaas. And now that his head was quiet and he _could_ come into physical contact with her whenever he wanted – he’d wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and actually have the chance to explore things at their own pace, or maybe slightly faster because who knew when he’d actually die for real next, and now she was putting it all on hold for such a silly-

“Just because you don’t have a choice about those other things doesn’t mean you have the emotional maturity-”

“I’m sorry, are you calling me emotionally immature?” Coming from her-

“I’m not comfortable with it,” she said firmly, backing up verbally and physically. “I don’t regret doing it that one time, but now that I know, it would bother me. It wouldn’t be right. And don’t try to trick me or force me or beg me into doing it, or else I really will know that you’re immature.”

He tried not to growl, or huff, or fold his arms, but this was _really_ irritating. Of all the things that could have happened, this wasn’t one he predicted. And how like her, too, to focus on that instead of ‘you could have killed me’. “Fine. But how will you know when I’m eighteen?”

“Ummm…”

“Drellik!” he hollered towards the half-open door.

“Ah! My lord! Coming!” He heard the sound of a scramble from somewhere outside, and Drellik appeared in the door, beaming. “Sorry, my lord, I was just in the lounge, doing some reading. It’s good to see you awake!” He looked back and forth between them, between Ashara’s sudden blush and Murlesson’s grumpy look. “…What can I do for you?”

“Do you have the records from the Netokos estate?”

“Why, I’m not sure. I will have to check.”

“If they’re not among my files somewhere, get them. Use Liiddi if you have to. And then look for the acquisition of all male Zabrak slaves from the last five Commenorean years and send me the details.”

“Er… yes, my lord!”

“That’s all,” Murlesson said. “Uh. It’s… good to see you too.”

Drellik smiled as he saluted, spinning energetically on his heel to go do as he was told.

“Will it have your birthdate listed?” Ashara asked anxiously.

“Probably not,” he said. “But it will list an age. I can always take the date of acquisition as a rough estimate. It was almost four years ago, and if I was at least thirteen then… I bet I’m closer to seventeen than you think.” Oh, real mature, rounding his age up.

“But that’s so depressing!” she said. “You can’t take that as a birthday. What about… Life Day? It’s coming up in a couple standard months, you wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to have a birthday. Oh, but then you’d have to deal with all the people who give you combined Life Day/birthday presents…”

That cracked him, and he laughed. “Ashara. No one even gave me presents until I took my freedom, and even of those, very few have come without ulterior motives. I’m not worried about not getting enough loot.” Besides, he could buy himself whatever he wanted, if it came to material possessions.

She giggled. “Well, okay then. So. You’re seventeen next Life Day?”

“You agree to that?”

“Are we negotiating your birthday?”

He tilted his head. “You agree to _that_?”

She giggled again. “All right. Oh, this is why I love you – you’re hilarious!” She swooped in to kiss him, and he first froze and then melted under her touch, fighting the urge to fling his arms around her and crush her greedily against him.

Instead, when she let him go for air, he stroked her cheek with his fingertips, even though he couldn’t properly feel it anymore. She was gorgeous when she smiled, her brown eyes laughing, her face and presence relaxed and warm. “And I love you for being bright, and brave, and bold. Thank you for rescuing me. …And for giving me a reason to live, fifteen months from now.”

She snickered. “Birthday sex, huh? I guess there are worse reasons.”

“ _I’ve_ had worse reasons,” he said sardonically, and leaned forward to get another kiss. At least he could kiss her. He would accept that.

He spent time thinking all that day, and dozing, just enjoying – was this what normal people called a holiday? He didn’t have to work, he didn’t have to study, he didn’t have to fight – for the first time in his entire life, he had nothing to worry about. His pending decision would change his entire future, but he didn’t have to think about it very hard yet; Ashara urged him just to rest, and relax, and suggested that they watch a holodrama after dinner and he got to pick which one.

Too much of this and he’d go insane from boredom, he could tell already, but at the moment it was the most welcome thing he’d ever had. He spent a lot of time just staring, feeling his head from the inside and marveling at how it didn’t hurt anymore. Soon enough he’d take it for granted again, but right now the novelty hadn’t worn off yet and he liked it. Especially since Ashara was basically waiting on him hand and foot, that was definitely an anomaly that wouldn’t last, but at the moment it seemed to make her happy to do it for him. She even gave him a haircut; it had been a while. They rewatched a couple of old episodes from Voyage Among the Stars after dinner, and he fell asleep holding her hand.

He actually got up the next day, exploring the rest of his ‘secret lair’ – it was just as cozy as he’d guessed, with tasteful use of colour and clean, efficient lines. He had some work to do filling up all the empty shelves, though. He’d always intended to bring the best of his collection here, but had not yet sat down to pick out what the best was. He’d have to check the catalogue from his Commenor operation.

And the ‘throne room’, as Ashara called it… It really was a throne room, a glossy black chamber with a towering, rather spiky throne in the middle of it, big enough to hid the entrance to the apartment behind it. Secret rooms within secret rooms… he liked it. He also liked the massive bank of viewscreens that descended from the ceiling so he could monitor everything in his private domain at once – and then some. If he wanted to make full use of this, he would have to expand his operations.

And part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to dive right back into that deadly game he’d won a reprieve from, to steal power bit by bit until the galaxy was no longer truly controlled from Dromund Kaas but secretly from this room on Nar Shaddaa. …But he’d probably need a lot _more_ viewscreens for that.

And he didn’t have his ghostly safety net anymore. If he went back into conflict with Thanaton, he would do it with only one life, without the chance of reviving after a death caused by the Force. It was… just something else to keep in mind.

Part of him really wanted to take up Ashara’s suggestion. He might even consider her unspoken wish to try joining the Jedi – but that would need a _lot_ more thinking about, a decision that could be made once he decided whether or not to break from the Empire in the first place. But her description of freedom was very tempting. It was true that he could probably keep them safe no matter where they went. Change his name, change his tattoos, mind-trick anyone who recognized him, go on practical archaeological expeditions for no one’s benefit but his own… What a life that could be!

He thought about it, and felt the spark inside him grow a little. It was weird.

“I think I’m a little bit high,” he said to Ashara while wandering about his throne room.

She laughed. “What makes you say that?”

“Endorphins,” he said. “I’ve never had so little pressure while recovering from injuries, and I think my system is entirely flooded right now.”

“So that’s why you’re acting so out of character,” she teased him. “You smile so easily now.”

He smiled. “I feel good. Better than yesterday, at any rate. This chamber is beautiful. You did an excellent job.”

She grinned at him, practically glowing. “I’m glad you like it! You can change the light colours, too. So you can make it spooky red, or spooky blue, or spooky green, not just spooky white.”

“But I can’t make it less spooky, can I?”

“It’s got black gloss metal paneling, spooky is the default setting.”

“So I could have a spooky rave if I wanted to.”

She laughed. “I’d be down for it. There’s a sound system included with the viewscreen display – I meant it for, like, if you want to do holocalls ‘in state’ or whatever but I’m pretty sure it can handle club mixes too. And no noise complaints down here!”

“The only issue would be – where do we put the bar?”

She let slide the implication that he’d be drinking and laughed. “Now I know you’re high. You don’t even like alcohol that much.”

“Well… I don’t like losing control. I don’t mind alcohol.”

“Right.” She watched him wander around for a minute or two more before blurting out: “So… um… have you thought about…?”

“A bit,” he said. “I need more time.” He paused. “It’s frightening. Once I commit, there’s no turning back from any of the paths before me. Not really.”

“Yeah. I should just let you know that Aristheron wants to know, because he’s taking care of Admiral Pyron right now and if he puts off officially taking command of him for too long people will get suspicious.”

“I thought as much. But I can’t give an answer yet. …But Rylee and Destris know, don’t they?”

“Would you like to talk to them privately?”

“I would, if they can contain themselves. Can Destris really be trusted?”

“Probably? He’s scared of you, you know.”

“True; even if I’m in a good mood and don’t feel like killing him, Xalek can always be trusted to take care of it.”

She made a face. “I feel like I shouldn’t have heard that. Do you wanna meet them here for effect?”

He grinned. “Sure.” He pulled his hood up to overshadow his face and made his way over to the throne to lounge in it. He really wasn’t comfortable with calling it a throne. Thrones were for oppressors and pompous fools. But then again, he was a ruler over his people; he had authority, he had power, and it was a not-so-secret delight to revel in it. If he didn’t have one, would he truly be on a level with the Sith lords who did?

The elevator took a long time; he remembered that he’d had this place built much deeper than most people currently lived on Nar Shaddaa, close to the moon’s forgotten true surface, but he’d never actually taken the elevator while conscious. It seemed to be forever she was gone, at least ten minutes, and he knew there weren’t any stops on the way… But when he was starting to get bored, the door dinged and opened, and Rylee, Destris, and Ashara got off. Rylee’s face lit up with joy. “Oh, Master, you look so much better! It’s so good to see you again!”

“Yeah, you look proper boss-like, in a place like this, too,” Destris said, looking around with approval.

He rose as they approached and made the Chraemmeft Scukri to them; they made it back with a low bow. “I am better. Thank you for looking after my people while I was unwell.”

“I could hardly believe it when Ashara arrived and said you were alive, after the last time we saw you,” Rylee said. “We’d been praying and praying, but we didn’t hear anything for so long… Will you be staying with us for long, Master?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I have not made up my mind as to my plans for the future, but I require more time to recuperate and I would like to do it among my own people. And perhaps you would like to know that your prayers helped.” Even if just a little… but he’d needed every single advantage he could possibly get, at the end there.

Rylee clasped her hands in front of her, smiling fit to burst. She looked like she was holding herself back from tackling him, and he was glad that she had enough sense not to touch him and make everyone uncomfortable. “That’s wonderful, Master! I’m so glad we could be of use. Would you like to see what improvements we’ve made, in person?”

“I would be delighted, but tomorrow,” he said. He was realizing he’d rather missed them, and he was in danger of further eroding the distinction between them that had begun to dissolve after he told them he was dying. They _couldn’t_ be allowed to be his equal friends, if he were to continue to be their Master. That wasn’t how cults worked. But they were familiar, and friendly to him, and in his oddly relaxed state he found himself trusting them far more than he knew was good for him. He just… couldn’t be cynical today. They seemed to like it, at least. “I would like to stay down here for today.” He didn’t have the energy to get mobbed by his followers.

“I completely understand,” Destris said. “Even for you, it must be very hard to recover from dying. We shall make preparations.”

“Discretely,” Rylee said. “We know you don’t want Darth Thanaton finding out you’re still alive.”

“Again,” he said drily. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.” He paused. “I didn’t actually die this time, you know. I only came close.” Perhaps he’d passed through death, while his soul had been out of his body, but did that count? One for the philosophers, perhaps.

“Oh,” Destris said. “Oh, that makes more sense. Even so, you get your rest, Master. It can’t be any ordinary thing to almost kill you, not after what you said to us before.”

“I can’t wait to show you the shrine!” Rylee said, clapping her hands.

“Er.”

Ashara stifled a grin. “I saw it, it’s quite something.”

Gods, this was going to be embarrassing, wasn’t it? “I look forward to it. Tomorrow, then.”

He woke early the next morning, and crept out of bed without waking Ashara. He was feeling better than ever. Today he was going to try sparring with Ashara for sure. He was certain he could give her a run for her money, even though he hadn’t really practiced technique in weeks. Sheer energy would make up for it.

And then… he really ought to decide what to do. He settled into his throne with a mug of fresh caf and pulled down the viewscreens to observe his domain. Even if he left it all behind, he would miss this. Maybe he could get a bigger ship and install something similar? But what would it watch over? Could he actually become a mercenary, a warlord, independent from both major governments? Perhaps he would have to explore the Unknown Regions in order to avoid tagging Thanaton’s interest with such an undertaking, but that wouldn’t be the worst thing for him to do.

His problem was he was just too ambitious. But really, he couldn’t be blamed. He’d devoted so much of his time and energy to learning how to wield political power that he wasn’t sure what else to use it for, and staying small with what he had seemed like a waste.

A dim conversation floated from the dregs of his memory… something about what he would do if he could do whatever he wanted. To sleep – well, he’d finally gotten to do that. To hold Ashara – she’d let him do that without reservation in a bit over a year. To read whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted… Yes. Would Drellik come with him if he quit the Empire? Ashara would, happily, but he would love to learn more from Drellik as well. So… he did know what else to spend his time and energy on. The hard part was making a plan that would allow him to do it in peace.

Still, no matter what he ended up doing, he was a long way from the angry, frightened slave boy he’d used to be.

One of the viewscreens was attuned to private communications between the upper administration of his cult; Rylee, Destris, and their closest counsel among the senior cultists, and it was about the only thing that updated continuously. The Commenor screen updated much more slowly – that office was much more focused and much more professional, only sending messages when necessary. The screen that would normally communicate with the Acrimonious was dark; if he didn’t know he was coming back, he didn’t need it yet. Still, he idly wondered what Pyron was up to.

A sudden flurry of transmissions from the cult caught his attention – and electrified his whole adrenal system. He had to sit back and take some deep breaths, to try to still his suddenly trembling hands. It didn’t work.

He tapped out a quick message – _‘dont send the troops, ill take care of it’_ – and crept silently back to his room. There was his doublebladed lightsaber, black and gleaming, unworn for days. He’d be wearing it now.

The elevator was waiting for him, and he tried to calm himself on the swift but long journey to the top. He couldn’t lose control now. The situation was much too delicate for that.

But he also couldn’t surpress an eager smile. He’d wanted to test out his strength in combat today. He was going to get that.

He snuck out of the cult headquarters easily, following the streets away, away, down a little, into a poorly-lit semi-industrial area. Graffiti spattered the walls, scrawled in paint, blood, and the Force. Piles of trash had accumulated in every corner, rotting and sticky with unknowable substances. His hearts were pounding. This was unreasonable. This was…

He was going to lose control. There was no question of that. But he had to rescue the kidnapped cultists while he did so. He reached out into the world around him, touching souls and turning away as they turned out to be irrelevant.

There. An abandoned warehouse park. Armed sentients hiding in the shadows, all humanoid from the feel of it. Clusters of frightened sentients inside shipping crates, their despair wailing silently into the Force. Far more than Destris had reported abducted, and with a particular, horrifyingly familiar tinge…

This was a slaving operation. Practically on his doorstep – they hadn’t been here a month ago. A sharp, snarling smile split his face. He didn’t know who they worked for, and it really didn’t matter, no matter how powerful they were. He might not be able to end slavery in the galaxy. He might not even go out of his way to rescue slaves, even to save others who might endure the misery he and his peers had gone through in his youth, as Aristheron had once told him.

But _his_ people would not be put through what he’d been through.

He pulled his hood over his head and stepped forward into a spotlight in front of the first warehouse. Someone barked an order in Huttese overhead, and another spotlight swiveled over to join the first. A trio of guards approached him. “If you’re not lost, get lost, buddy.”

He laughed.

“Somethin’ funny, sicko? Kriffin’ loony-”

Murlesson _lunged_ , lightsaber roaring to life, and all three of the guards fell in pieces on the ground. And he stopped, staring at the blades of his saber. They had been… ordinary, before, a lethal scarlet glow powered by Qixoni crystals, which though rare and powerful had given off a fairly standard Sith colour. Now the centre of each blade was black, and he felt Darkness roiling within the hilt, confined within those crystals. Something had happened to them while he was AWOL.

Something to investigate later. From around and within the warehouse came shouts, and blasterfire, and the sound of running boots. Murlesson rolled his head back and forth, cracking his neck, rolled his shoulders for good measure, and sprinted forward. Black hatred boiled up from deep within his soul, long stifled, now let loose with a vengeance.

There were only thirty-two more hostile presences on the grounds, all converging on the warehouse he found himself within, dashing through doors on all sides. It was almost disappointing, he mused through the haze that clouded his rational mind. It would be too easy, over too quickly. They were yelling to each other in Huttese and Basic, coordinating with and without commlinks, moving to surround him as completely as possible, on all sides and from above as well. His eyes flicked up and around, taking in their locations and the terrain. Catwalks, containers, piles of scrap and debris, unlabelled barrels, cranes and pulleys – he registered them all in a blink.

Angles and trajectories flowed through his head as he skidded across the smooth duracrete floor, deflecting a few shots and slipping around others. A simple push into their minds and they wouldn’t see him coming, let alone be able to shoot him, but where was the fun of that? He bared his teeth in a feral grin and reached out. One Gran came flying through the air towards him, taking almost a dozen shots of friendly fire before Murlesson hurled the smoking corpse back in the direction it came from, hitting two others and knocking them to the floor under the body of their comrade. He tossed his lightsaber like a javelin, yanking a Bith forward into it and then tossing the impaled body backwards into a human, blocking another three shots with his bare hands in the meantime. He’d forgotten his gloves but it didn’t even matter; the Force protected him completely, his stolen power and dark rage bringing him to new heights of control. Grenades he batted away without even looking, and they dove for cover.

And then his lightsaber was back in his grasp. He vaulted a waist-high duracrete barrier and found a group of four within melee range. Two of them tried to run, but his saber hummed hungrily as he swept through them all, sending pieces of limbs and weapons flying. He might not be Aristheron’s equal, but it didn’t matter. These men couldn’t counter him. So now… what _was_ he capable of?

 _Anything_.

He sensed seven of them spread out over a catwalk up on his left, and leaped the three-story jump easily. The first one got bisected as he backed away; the second and third got zapped, standing so close together. He was running forward down the catwalk, reckless yet utterly certain of himself. He spun his lightsaber as he charged, slashing the railing into pieces and picking them up with the Force as he went, hurling them into the next three enemies like javelins. The last man, a human, he gave a Force-push, throwing him into the railing hard enough to break his back before he fell the three stories to land on his head.

They were still firing at him from the ground and he slashed the supports of the catwalk above him and in front of him, and it snapped, giving him a thrilling ride down to the floor of the warehouse. Two Twi’leks had been unlucky enough to get their bolts deflected right back into themselves – he hadn’t even been aiming for them, there were too many incoming shots for him to coordinate _that_.

They broke and ran. It had been only thirty seconds and they were at less than half-strength. “There will be none of that.” He picked up an empty shipping container and flung it over the back exit, crushing the one slaver who made it there, shoved a forklift in front of the left side door, and crumpling the right side door enough that they could see out but unless they had Wookiee strength or a heavy-duty cutting implement, they weren’t getting out. There was only the front shipping entrance, behind him. Now _they_ were the ones stinking with fear. They reminded him of the guards from Netokos’s compound, Krznaf, Melcran, Wimgree, and the rest; they had been beneath him when he broke out and they were beneath him now.

But _Sithspawn_ it felt good to crush them.

A human and a Gran charged at him, screaming hysterically; he reached out randomly, grabbing a piece of sheet metal from one of the piles of debris and swatting it across before him; their headless bodies collapsed in front of him.

“Wait, wait wait wait now,” called one of them, a Zabrak like him, lowering his gun and stepping forwards as the blaster fire tapered off. That must have required immense courage – or immense stupidity – so Murlesson paused, waiting to see which one it was. His skin was a lighter red, his head was bald, and his tattoos made a gaping black maw around his mouth. “Lord of the Sith. We can’t stop you. We’d like to surrender. What is it that’s made you angry with us?”

“You took my people,” Murlesson said, his raging fury barely in check enough to be sarcastically polite.

“We’re very sorry. We didn’t know. We’ll let them go immediately.”

Murlesson hissed. “As if that can save you now. I _know your kind_.” Hatred blurred his vision but power surged through him as he bared his fangs and _pushed_.

The Zabrak’s head exploded. Another kind of push and his body went flying backwards into a pile of pink glowing goop oozing out of the container he’d thrown at the back door; the goop made a gulping noise and the body quickly disappeared into it.

One of the remaining humans had been frantically working on the door of the closest shipping container, and had finally managed the dexterity to unlock and open it. Reaching inside, he dragged out a vaguely familiar figure – Khi, the Rodian with the red-and-black mohawk – and pressed a blaster pistol to her head while she blubbered in terror. “If you care so much about these schuttas, let us go or we’ll fry ’em all!”

Murlesson shrugged. “I mean, if you want to make it easy for me…”

Khi flinched and screamed as the blaster went off next to her head, but the slaver was the one who collapsed; Murlesson had nudged the blaster a little further and pulled the trigger himself. Khi crawled back into the container, shivering, which was the best place for her at the moment. There were still ten – eleven slavers trying to get out and away.

He clotheslined three of them on the other catwalk with a chain from a winch, winding it around them and hoisting them into the air fast enough to leave bloodstains on the ceiling. The rest, whether on the catwalk or the ground… Lightning, lightning, lightning, blunt object, sharp object; he froze the last three in place and walked up slowly behind them, bisecting one, beheading the next.

He stopped behind the last one, a human wailing softly to himself. “Who do you work for?”

“S-S-S-S-S-Sturch M-M-M-Mid-d-d-danyl,” gasped the human. “P-p-p-p-please-!”

The name meant nothing to Murlesson, but at least he had it. Probably. It was hard to understand through the stammering and the chattering teeth. He squeezed, crushing the slaver’s heart inside him.

Then there was silence except for the pink ooze burbling, and the occasional dripping noise.

He sheathed his lightsaber. It had all been too easy. He was completely unscathed. This was no test for him, their ignorant, greedy evil no match for his hatred. High on endorphins, high on an adrenaline rush, the thrill of death running through him and giddy with power, he wanted more. His eyeballs were vibrating with the force of his emotions as they rampaged freely. He was in full command of incredible power, of his body, of his mind, and it felt _good_ to exercise it.

If he ran off into the galaxy to hide, he would never be challenged in any meaningful way again.

 _But you wanted peace_ , objected the little spark of light in his head. And… he looked around at all the dead bodies. _He’d_ done that. It was… sickening. And _perversely_ thrilling. And cruel and unfair-

Well if they wanted a fair fight, they shouldn’t have been slavers. He clamped his inner Light under durasteel and headed back to the open container, not looking at the bodies anymore.

There were six or seven containers full of people, people scared out of their wits at all the strange noises, he sensed. He stopped at the door and peered in, putting his hatred away. It served no purpose here now. “Khi. It’s all right. I’m here.”

< _Masterrrrrrrr_ ,> wailed Khi, throwing herself into his arms. < _It was so scaryyyyyy!_ >

“I know,” he said gently. He really did know. What would he have wanted to hear in this situation, back when he was helpless and weak? “They’re gone now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” He patted her back and then stepped away, looking into the back of the container and raising his voice. “They can’t hurt any of you. Come out and be free.”

He went to the other containers while they were figuring out how to organize themselves; when they’d all been emptied there were more than two hundred people huddled in the middle of the warehouse, looking at the corpses in wide-eyed, unblinking fear.

One of them was lagging as she exited the container, a rather plump Devaronian girl just reaching adolescence. She was limping, leaning on a Nautolan woman who kept an arm carefully around her. Recently met, but already bonding, he read through the Force, and went back to them. “Do you need help?”

“M-my feet…” stammered the girl, looking down. And he looked down too, and saw marks he remembered from some of his fellow slaves before.

She wouldn’t make it back like this. His boots wouldn’t fit her. Maybe one of the others could carry-

No, he had to do it. Give them an inch of kindness, and they’d give him a mile of service, to repurpose a Republic saying. He crouched before her. “Come on. Get on.”

“H-huh? But…”

He glanced back. “I’m going to take you all to see my people. They can help you.”

Shyly, she leaned on him, and he pulled her up into a piggyback ride.

“Thank you,” said the Nautolan woman. “I could not carry her…”

He nodded at her, uncertain how to respond. Then he moved to the front of the crowd and whistled to get their attention. “I’m Murlesson Kallig, Lord of the Sith. I lead the Cult of the Screaming Blade, and I killed these slavers who took some of my people.”

< _I was just telling them, Master_ ,> Khi said, bouncing, seemingly recovering already.

“Yes, thank you, Khi. Anyway, I’m going to my headquarters. You are all welcome to come; my people will gladly take care of you.”

All of them followed him. Fantastic, some properly obedient minions.

He walked through the front doors of the Screaming Blade headquarters, head high, parade of ex-slaves behind him, and met the astonished gaze of his minions. Everything ground to a halt as they stared at him radiating strength and confidence. Ashara was there, and her worry turned to relief which faded back to worry as she saw him. Rylee and Destris looked up with hope and triumph. He let the Devaronian girl down into the arms of the Nautolan woman and strode forward into the foyer.

“I have returned,” he said. “And having fought Death and won, Thanaton is next.”

The cultists erupted into ignorant applause, cheering and bowing and prostrating themselves. He didn’t look at Ashara, but he could feel her disappointment and resignation. He… expected no less, actually. He understood, and he sympathized, after her hopes had been elsewhere, but he had made his decision.

She would understand when he won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I've gotten in this story; the final story arc needs to be good so I've been working on other projects to clear my head and get my inspiration back. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you again when I get back to Star Wars!


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